Back From Black
by LaurieRoar
Summary: According to this dark story, after Valentine's Day, we find out that Karofsky is completely insane! Rated M for graphic rape/non-con, harsh language, and adult subjects. Remember when reading that this is just a horror story. Our Kurt is safe, I promise!
1. Chapter 1

Dave clutched the steering wheel in front of him, his knuckles white like a corpse against it. His eyes were closed, sunk into himself, searching and feeling for his emotions. Was he afraid? Nervous? Guilty? He should've been, but he wasn't. He was restless with anticipation, eagerly awaiting what was to come, what he'd been fantasizing about for months.

The search for emotions was abandoned when images of Kurt flashed through his mind, memories of watching him walk down the hallway in his tight pants, of pretending to look at the female cheerleaders but eyeing him out instead, of just hearing his beautiful voice…

…Shaking in fear…

Dave turned off the ignition, staying with his hand on the key for a moment as he regained his composure. He inhaled deeply, faintly listening to the old country song on the radio, eyes closed and morals compressed. He opened his eyes. He swung open the car door and slammed it shut, locking it with the remote, just barely registering the beep-beep noise and the flashing lights. He'd parked in an alley near the back for an easier escape, but the door there was locked from the outside so he had to use the front entrance. He was fairly confident, though, that nobody saw him walk up the familiar sidewalk, up the cement stairs, and swing open the door to his old school. With determination, he walked steadily towards the choir room, trying to ignore the way the familiar hallways flooded his mind with images of Kurt, Kurt from the waist down, his jeans flush around him, gripping his legs, tight against his ass…

_You're getting ahead of yourself._

Dave could hear the singing in the hallways now as he neared closer to the Glee room. It sounded like that Berry chic, as usual. Dave never undertood why she had to sing so much, why the let her sing so much when they had somebody like Kurt in their club. That voice could turn men gay. That was fact – Dave was pure, living, breathing proof of the power of a countertenor. Kurt's voice was so high and pure, with an old-fashioned vibrato felt out in the perfect places as if he sung by a formula, as if he used scientific, mathematical reasoning to ensure the perfection of his voice. Berry didn't have that. Nobody had that, except for Kurt.

Dave reached the choir room. The singing had stopped now. Checking his watch, he realized that he was right on time – their meeting should be over soon. He leaned in close to the door, listening for the familiar, beautiful voice that made his heart leap –

"…blue slushie stains on my Calvin Klein underwear."

There it was. The voice of an angel, fluttering effortlessly above everyone else's.

"I hate that!" Puck's voice sounded through the door.

"Oh, really?" Kurt's soft voice again. "Because I happen to recall several occasions where you were the one to ruin my designer clothing with your barbaric need to slushie all the talented kids."

Dave heard that black girl giggling. "Okay, guys, calm down. So, are you coming over tonight, Kurt? Rachel and Tina are coming over for a movie night. We're thinking of starting with The Wizard of Oz and going from there."

Dave vaguely heard Kurt sigh with an air of near-disappointment. "A girls' night! I haven't been to one of those in ages."

Somebody cleared their throat. Dave felt a twinge of anger just at the thought of who it could be. "But, unfortunately, Mercedes, he's already promised to me."

Dave felt a wave of fury roll through his body. He recognized that voice, the deep, fairy voice straight from Neverland. The perfect private school boyfriend who's name made him shudder to even just think it – _Blaine._

Kurt giggled, and Dave's anger would have lifted if he hadn't remembered why he was laughing. He was laughing because his horny hobbit boyfriend had made him laugh.

Mercedes sighed loudly. "Seriously, guys, you've been dating for almost a year now, you don't have to go on a new romantic date every weekend."

"Now, now, Mercedes, don't get jealous now," Dave could hear Kurt's smile in his voice.

"I'm not. But Blaine, you're going to have to let him out at some point. His girls miss him."

Frodo laughed. "I'll think about it."

The conversation continued. Dave listened for Kurt's voice but didn't hear much of it. He did, however, hear his boyfriend's voice, probably telling Kurt a boring story that he was internally hating but pretending to love, which was why Dave could hear the occasional flirty, high-pitched giggle coming from his beautiful Kurt.

He looked down at his watch. They should be leaving soon.

As if reading his mind, he heard Finn. "Coming home with me, Kurt?"

"Nah, I'll walk. I'm going to stop at the library to do some homework. It's quieter there, and that way you and Rachel can have the house to yourselves."

"Okay." Finn answered a little too quickly.

"Ugh, I have to grab my shirt from my locker… poor thing. It was so pretty."

"It'll be pretty again, as soon as you put it on."

"Aw, Blaine, you're such a sweet little suck-up."

Dave couldn't help but smile despite the mention of his arch enemy's name, and not just at Kurt's characteristically witty reply. Kurt was walking to the library, not expected home for awhile, and had to go to his locker to pick up his shirt. Dave's only problem would be if the preppy boyfriend followed him like a stray dog. Either way, he'd hopefully be able to catch Kurt on his own at some point. He ducked under the window to the choir room and headed towards Kurt's locker.

Kurt and Blaine were last to leave the choir room. Everybody had already raced ahead to their cars, typical kids excited for the weekend, but Kurt had to pick up something from his locker. Not just something, actually, but rather an Alexander McQueen shirt that had been stained with a blue slushie that morning. Fortunately, he had a small wardrobe hanging in his locker, so he hadn't been forced to walk around in it all day. He was still upset that his outfit didn't match as perfectly as it had when he'd left his house, though.

"So, I'll pick you up at eight, then?"

Kurt smiled at his boyfriend. "Sounds good. Text me before you leave."

"Oh, Kurt, you know I can't stop texting you for more than five minutes."

Kurt laughed. "Yeah, I think you might have a problem."

"It gives me anxiety!"

"I think that's called separation anxiety, and is the sign of a needy boyfriend. We may have to prioritize dealing with this, Blaine."

"Sorry, babe, there's no fixing it. You're just going to have to deal with the fact that your boyfriend is completely obsessed with you."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose I can learn to cope with your creepiness. I'll just make sure we never stop communicating for more than five minutes."

"Agreed." Blaine leaned forward, lightly touching Kurt's hips with both hands and pulling him forwards. He kissed him gently, longer than he'd initially planned. "Bye, now."

Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's. "Our goodbyes needn't be so dramatic all the time." He kissed him lightly again.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." He squeezed Kurt's hips, trying not to let the memories of clutching him like this, only with a lot less clothes, a lot more sweat, and an amazingly sexy pretzel impersonation by Kurt, ruin the romance of the moment. "Bye, now."

"Bye."

"Love you!" Blaine said with a big smile.

Kurt giggled at his enthusiasm, then returned it. "Love you too!"

Blaine pulled away reluctantly, and with another smile, turned towards the door.

Kurt turned in the direction of his locker with a fluttering heart, happily anticipating their date. Little did Mercedes realize, their plans for the night were a little more than just a typical romantic date – after commemorating their relationship, they'd began a weekly dating ritual specifically so that they could have sex. Blaine had been looking forward to it all day, sending him sweet text messages like "I love you" and "you're beautiful" all morning. In the afternoon, he seemed to get more impatient, sending things like "I can't wait for tonight" and "OH MY GOD you're ass in those jeans" until finally last period, where they both disregarded the class lesson and spent an hour sexting each other instead. By the time Glee came around, Kurt felt like he'd already gotten laid. Now he was excited for round two.

Halfway down the hall, Kurt noticed a large figure standing near his locker. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make out who it was. It was definitely a familiar body tall and burly, a little chubby but mostly muscle with an intimidating posture. He was looking in the opposite direction, so Kurt couldn't see his face. As he neared closer, however, he noticed his jacket…

A letterman jacket.

"Karofsky?" He still wore that thing at his new school?

Dave turned around. When he saw Kurt, his stomach dropped and his heart leapt. He automatically forgot how to speak, just watching the perfect body in front of him and imagining what he was going to do to him, treasuring his pretty blue eyes, his perfect pale skin, his long legs and the gently curve of his hips. The moment his eyes found the slight bulge of his crotch, he forgot any preconceived thoughts of talking to him or comforting him. Almost subconsciously, he reached forward and grabbed Kurt's arm the moment he was close enough.

"Hey - !"

"It's okay." He pulled Kurt into his chest, putting a hand over his mouth. Kurt screamed. "Just … quiet, okay? I won't hurt you…"

Kurt squeaked adorably, struggling, then screamed again when he realized how much stronger Dave was than him. Dave could vaguely make out his muffled cries of "what are you doing" and "let me go".

Kurt's struggling was more difficult to restrain than Dave had thought it would be. It was nothing that he couldn't handle, of course, but it was taking a lot of energy to keep him still and quiet at the same time. His cries were echoing down the hallway. Afraid of somebody hearing him, he hoisted Kurt off the ground, using only one arm to try and restrain his kicking legs and prying arms similtaneously. The other he left clamped over Kurt's mouth. Laboredly, he half-carried, half-dragged Kurt into the closest unlocked room in the hallway, dropping him to his feet and locking the door behind him.

Kurt squeaked again.

"Shh…" Dave shushed in his ear. "It's okay." He loosened his grip on his face slightly, aware of the skin around his hand going white from the pressure. He could hear Kurt's heavy exhales against his fingers and hear the short, shaky inhales that followed them. His heart was beating hard against Dave's arm around his chest.

Rustling in the hallway caught his attention – Schuester. His grip around Kurt's waist tightened possessively. Kurt whimpered in response, his hands prying at Dave's as he struggled to escape. An arm flew free temporarily and reached for the door handle, but Dave grabbed it quickly and hugged it back in place.

Schuester cleared his throat in the hallway and Kurt froze, suddenly aware of the other's presence. In a split second, his sudden loud cries, muffled by Dave's hand, were projecting through the room. The footsteps in the hallway increased in volume as the teacher grew closer. Panicking, Dave tightened his grip on his captive and muttered for him to be quiet. Kurt ignored him, instead raising his voice so his muffled cries of "help" were almost audible.

Frustration overwhelmed Dave. He lifted him off the ground roughly, Kurt's legs falling sidways at a painfully awkward angle and his neck thrust dangerously quickly to the side. Dave's dark eyes met Kurt's blue ones, bright and icy in the light. "Quiet. Now."

Despite Dave's clear anger, Kurt didn't listen to him. Instead he struggled even more, screaming at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed defiantly through the room and out the door to the hallway.

Dave panicked. Schuester would definitely hear his cries for help. China could probably hear his cries for help. His grip tightened more, bruising Kurt's narrow hip and pale face. The footsteps continued in the hallway. Dave looked around frantically for a place to hide him, or something to do to shut him up, but the adrenaline was pounding in his head and his panic was taking over his mind. He couldn't think.

As the footsteps grew louder, loud enough to be just outside the door and Kurt continued to scream at the top of his lungs, Dave prepared to be caught. But Schuester didn't seem to hear anything. He was humming a song in the hallway, the spiratic sounds of footsteps and the occasional streaking noise of a dragged foot made Dave swear he was dancing. Cautiously, he pressed his ear against the door, listening. Schuester was definitely right outside, walking closer, completely oblivious to Kurt's screams, and then the footsteps and the humming began to die down, steadily quietening until finally fading into nothing.

Dave loosened his grip on Kurt slightly. "When did Schuester get an iPod, Fancy?"

Kurt went limp. He squeezed his eyes shut and his breath sped up. Dave set him on his feet, but he just slumped to the ground, Dave's handing slipping from his face.

Free to speak, he weakly looked up at his captor. "What do you want?" His arms were inches from covering his head.

Dave looked down at him, cowering on his knees. His eyes scanned over his body, rolling over the sweater that fit tight over his back and down to the sweet curve of his ass in his painted-on designer jeans. His crotch throbbed, eyes glued to the little form at his feet.

Kurt continued when Dave didn't answer. "I thought we were friends, now, Dave. What happened? I though you were accepting yourself!"

Dave still didn't answer. His eyes were now unclothing Kurt, imagining seeing his tight sweater falling to the floor, his jeans unzipping and pulling off of him with his underwear falling right after, leaving him naked and vulnerable on the floor, so beautiful and angelic even in the harsh flourescent lights of the classroom.

Kurt looked down, hurt in his eyes. "If you're going to beat me up, just please try to avoid my face so my dad doesn't get worked up."

"I won't hurt you."

Kurt froze. Even his breathing stopped. Dave didn't understand why at first, but on reflection had to rethink his tone. He'd spoken gently, breathily, his desire showing through in his voice. Kurt had never heard Dave talk like that. Actually, the only person that had ever talked to Kurt like that was his boyfriend. The boyfriend, whom Dave refused to think about now.

Kurt looked up slowly, his arms still instinctually getting ready to shield his face. "Then… what?" He asked. "Is this about Valentine's Day?"

Dave couldn't help but smile. He was so beautiful, looking up at him with big eyes, his perfect pale skin vibrant as always, the adorable flush in his cheeks and his brown hair messy, sexy. His soft lips were just inches away from his crotch. Dave couldn't resist stepping forward and weaving his hands through Kurt's hair, messing it up more. Kurt winced and recoiled at the touch, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion and something like disgust. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror.

"Oh God. Oh God, no, please don't shave my head!"

Dave actually laughed out loud at that, but he felt the tightness in his crotch increase at the sound of Kurt's high, angelic voice. Kurt recoiled more at the sound of Dave's laughter, unsure of how to react. Was he laughing because he was going to do something much worse? Dave gazed down at him awhile longer, watching as his face slowly lost the fear and returned to confusion. As Dave's stare intensified, the fear returned again.

"What do you want?" He said finally. He seemed to be gaging the seriousness of the situation now, beginning to understand that this wasn't the typical abuse that he was used to taking on a daily basis. This was something much different, something worse that he needed to be afraid of.

Then his eyes dropped down, double-taking at Dave's half-erection that was beginning to show through his jeans. Kurt hesitated for a moment, the situation finally sinking in. He gasped and jumped back on his hands, his eyes still watching Dave's crotch in a horrified look of disbelief.

"Karofsky," he said, the growing panic becoming apparent in his voice. "What… what are you doing?"

Dave bit his lip now, watching the angel in front of him. His erection was straining against his jeans now just from having Kurt's mouth that close to it. His hands were flexing at his side, anticipation eating away at him.

Tears gathered in Kurt's eyes, and when he spoke, his voice broke. "Dave?" He tried. "Please. What are you doing?"

"Just looking." He paused.

Kurt met his gaze only a few moments more before he looked away in humiliation.

"For now."

Kurt inhaled shakily.

"Are you crying?"

Kurt bit his lip and looked up, the tears starting to overfill his eyes. He tried to contain them, embarassed, but one leaked through despite his efforts, rolling down his perfect pale skin, over his cheek and the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away quickly and sniffled quietly.

Dave stepped forward. Kurt jumped and quickly pulled himself backward, eyes swinging up to meet Dave's intense gaze. Dave watched as Kurt's chest heaved up and down with his breaths. His sweater was very tight, defining his little but broad shoulders, the narrowness of his hips, and the flatness of his stomach, and his jeans always killed, hugging his hips and defining his thighs. Kurt shivered as Dave shamelessly eyed him out. Another tear fell down his cheek.

Dave stepped forward again and Kurt backed up until he hit against the wall, clutching the ground as if it would save him. Dave kneeled down beside him. He licked his lips.

"Dave." Kurt breathed.

"Yes?" He asked, his voice still gentle.

Kurt just shook his head, eyes never leaving his captor as tears spilled out of them. "You can't do this. Please just let me go." Dave didn't answer. "Please. You're scaring me."

"I always scare you."

Kurt inhaled shakily. "Not like this." His arms were visibly shaking now.

Dave smiled again. "Well, then I guess we'd better get this over with so I can let you go."

"Get what over with?" Kurt cried. Panic was starting to overtake him, his voice shaking and the tears falling freely down his face.

Dave reached down and undid his zipper. The sound made Kurt whimper and press back against the wall, refusing to as much as look. Dave pulled his pants down and then his boxers, his hands finding their way to his pulsing erection. His breathing became almost as irregular as Kurt's as he stroked it, listening to the little noises Kurt was making and eyeing out his heaving chest.

"It's okay, Kurt." He said a little laboredly. He wrapped his hand around his dick and started pumping it, his thoughts stuck on the boy in front of him. He spoke slowly. "Just… just enjoy it, baby. You could like this. Really like this. But you have to let yourself... let yourself enjoy it." He let go of his erection, hand wet with pre-come.

Kurt was unashamedly crying now, his eyes squeezed shut, refusing to look. He seemed to be ignoring him, pretending to be somewhere else.

Dave inched towards him, causing Kurt to let out a deep, growled whimper of dread. He grabbed Kurt by the shoulders and pulled him forward. Kurt gasped at the contact, and pulled back, turning to look at Dave's face but not looking down. Dave pulled him close into his arms despite Kurt's clear reluctance. He grabbed the back of his neck and tried to angle his head down. "Just look, baby… just look…"

Kurt shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "No… let me go, Dave, this is… this is bad, Dave, this is wrong."

"Just look…"

"No!"

Dave grew impatient. "Come on, baby. Put it in your mouth." He pushed Kurt's head down a little more roughly than he'd intended. "Just – "

"Ugh!" Kurt cried, struggling to get away. His eyes finally opened, and they widened in horror when they finally saw Dave's penis. He tried to shake his head away from Dave's grip. "No, Dave, no, no!" He cried. Dave held on through his struggling, shushing him the entire time.

"It's okay… it's okay…" He cooed. Kurt's hands were on Dave's, trying to pry them off of him, the tears pouring out of him and the sobs choking him mercilessly. It became clear to Dave that he wasn't going to calm down anytime soon, so he reluctantly pulled him up and back into his arms, shoving his head into his chest with a hand weaved in his hair holding him still. "Shh…" He said. Kurt just cried harder, his thigh pressed against Dave's erection.

He held him like that until his breathing slowed down, though the tears continued. Dave whispered in his ear quietly, trying to calm him.

"You're so beautiful. You know that? That's why I want you, because you're so beautiful." He let go of his head as he relaxed, and his hand lowered to his shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly while still feeling the shape of it, how small it was in his hands even through the thick fabric of his sweater. "Everything's okay, baby. Everything's okay."

As his breathing slowed, Dave allowed his mind to return to his previous request. "Are you ready now?"

At these words, Kurt automatically started panicking again, his eyes widening and the tears building up more forcefully than before. "No, Dave, please don't make me do this. This is too far, Dave, this is illegal! This is rape!"

Dave just shushed him and gripped his head in his hands. Kurt's own hands flew over top of Dave's again. His legs kicked out, his entire body shuddering and pulling away as Dave guided him down. His head was an inch from Dave's throbbing member, but his lips were sealed tightly shut through his high-pitched whimpering. He was having trouble breathing through his nose that was plugged from the crying, but he kept his mouth shut regardless, tossing his head in every direction that wasn't forward.

"Open up, baby." Dave said. The excitement grew in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Kurt's perfect mouth so close to his cock, the anticipation nearly overwhelming him. He grew impatient with Kurt's refusal, and his voice deepened in anger. "Don't make me hurt you."

Kurt sobbed, but kept struggling. "Mm-mm. Mm-mm." He shook his head frantically.

Dave pushed his cock against Kurt's lips, and Kurt squealed loudly, his eyes squeezing shut. He screamed and struggled as much as he could with Dave's hands holding his head still. He thrust forward, against his lips, making them part slightly, and the very tip of his dick was flooded with sensation, the warmth and the wet of Kurt's beautiful mouth. Kurt screamed and struggled frantically when Dave pushed forward more, his lips too weak to hold back the strength of Dave's hips, and with the slightest movement, his mouth was full of cock.

Dave didn't know how long he'd waited for this, the feeling of Kurt's mouth on him, so narrow and tight. His breath came in quick bursts, swift inhalations and elongated exhalations. Kurt whimpered and shivered underneath him, tears pouring out of his tightly shut eyes as Dave thrust into him. Dave felt him out, clutching his face, feeling the impossible warmth of his mouth and the saliva clinging to him, making him feel a rush of cold on the wet part of his dick when he pulled back. He felt himself getting close, the burning feeling growing in his stomach and he was so close, so close… when Kurt bit down, hard.

Dave gasped and then cried out, pulling out of Kurt and pushing his head away. Kurt recovered from the push quickly, jumping up and scrambling towards the door. Dave watched him clutch the doorknob and swing it open, revealing the deserted hallway before he switched into gear despite the shock and the pain. He dove forward towards the door, grabbing Kurt's little ankle and yanking. Kurt tumbled to the ground with a scream, but then rolled onto his back and kicked at Dave mercilessly, yelling for help.

"Shh!" Dave cried. He clutched Kurt's ankle and pulled him easily towards him, grabbing his waist and lifting him up over his shoulder. He stood, slammed the door shut, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain all over his torso from Kurt's relentless kicking and punching.

"Put me down! Help! Oh God, FUCK!"

Dave had never heard Kurt swear before, and the word sounded somehow unnatural having been formed with his perfect lips, made with his beautiful voice. And yet at the same time, it was hot, and sent a rush of want to Dave's still pulsing erection, newly adorned with pretty little bite marks. He dropped Kurt roughly on the ground and grabbed his face. He pulled him towards his crotch again, muttering something that he barely remembered saying, something angry that warned Kurt to be nice this time. Kurt sobbed and struggled, kicking and screaming through his tightly closed lips. Soaked in need, Dave was furious. "Stay still, you little bitch!"

Kurt swung an arm forward, punching Dave right in the jaw. Dave gasped and pulled back with a hand on his face. He tasted blood on the inside of his cheek where it had knocked into his tooth. When he regained his vision back from black, Kurt was running to the door again. Fury flooded him. "That's it," he said to himself.

In three steps, he was behind Kurt, the door just open, Kurt's foot just stepping outside, and then Dave's arms were around his waist. He lifted him up roughly again, causing him to scream loudly. Dave hoped to God there weren't any janitors within hearing distance. He slammed the door shut, and in one swift motion, thrust Kurt hard against the wall, watching his head ricochet off of it.

He almost felt the vibration from the impact in his hands, and the cracking sound that lit up the room was unnerving. Kurt grew still for a moment. His eyes closed and his mouth automatically opened, letting out a sort of gurgled moan of pain. Dave took that as an opportunity. He sat down and pulled Kurt's face to his lap, shoving the crown of his dick into his whimpering mouth. Dave exhaled in relief, moving Kurt's head back and forth and feeling the pleasure pulsing all over him. His throat was so relaxed from the head trauma that Dave slid in easily, moaning through every inch that went inside.

In a few moments, Kurt had recovered slightly from the shock of the impact. He screamed loudly when he realized what was inside of him. He struggled and cried weakly as Dave moved and forced him to move. After a few thrusts he started to reluctantly give into the act, calming down his struggling and resorting in just holding his aching head, whimpering and trying to breathe through the obstruction inside him. Dave moaned as he worked, his movement getting more and more violent as he grew closer to orgasm. His hips jerked forward roughly, pounding against Kurt and forcing him to deepthroat him farther than was probably safe. Dave groaned, moving Kurt's head heavily with his hips.

Kurt was crying underneath him now, dizzy from being slammed against the wall and now repeatedly slammed against Dave's crotch, gasping for breath whenever possible. His throat became raw and sore as Dave worked him, and all he could do was groan in pain and faintly struggle through it.

Dave came hard down his throat, clutching Kurt's jaw around his dick and forcing him to swallow it. When he came down from his orgasm, he pulled his sensitive dick from Kurt's mouth and held his head gently. Kurt breathed deeply, eyes tightly shut.

Dave's recovery period wasn't very long. In a few minutes, he was hard again and pushing back into Kurt's near-unconscious body.

Kurt coughed and gasped for air, holding Dave's hand weakly, his eyes flickering open and closed. He groaned when he found his voice, then sobbed, and the tears continued. He stayed almost limp in Dave's hands. Dave just watched him, breathing heavily, thinking back to what he'd just done and feeling the satisfaction in his body. Finally, deciding five times was enough for now, he lifted Kurt gently up onto his knees, holding him by the shoulders. His head lolled to the side as he whimpered pitifully. His lips were swollen and spit was running down his chin, and his eyes were only half-opened, definitely concussed and basically out of it. Yet somehow, despite the dazed look, the drooling and the crying, he managed to look just as beautiful as ever. Dave felt another twitch in his crotch, but he forced himself to calm down, holding onto Kurt's shoulders tenderly.

"Hummel?" He said, shaking him gently.

"Unng…" Kurt grunted in a voice raspy from his undoubtedly sore throat. His head fell forward and his eyes closed.

"Stay with me." Dave said, clutching his shoulder tighter. He lifted him up slightly so they were at eye level, his thighs lifting off the ground. "Hey, stay with me."

Kurt squeaked and jerked his head up just to collapse back down. He let out a weak cough and a string of saliva dripped from his mouth, falling in a steady line down to his sweater. His eyebrows furrowed.

"You okay?"

"D-… daa… unng…"

Dave shook him again. "What was that?" Kurt's head rolled to the other side.

Kurt sobbed. "Dad..."

"Oh." Dave set him down again, looking down at the floor for any fluids that might have escaped Kurt's mouth. A little bit of blood and drool had fallen to the ground between them, but other than that, it seemed okay. He'd swallowed anything from Dave. He pulled up his underwear and his pants with one hand, pinning Kurt against his chest.

"D- ... daddy…" Kurt moaned again, his voice breaking and a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Shh…" Dave clutched his shoulders tighter and brought them both to standing. He tried to steady Kurt on his feet, shaking him again and repeating his name, but he was completely gone, crying for his father pathetically. Dave slid an arm around his thighs and lifted him, using his free hand to grab a tissue off the teacher's desk and wipe up the spit and the little bit of blood from the ground. He looked around for anymore evidence. When there was none, he pocketed the tissue and moved towards the door.

"D- … Dave…"

"Shh, baby, it's okay."

"I… unng… n- … need…"

Dave brought a hand to Kurt's back and rubbed it comfortingly, as gentle as possible. He had Kurt lifted too high for his head to fall onto his shoulder, so instead it just slumped forward, his back hunched with one arm around Dave's neck and the other pinned between both of their chests. "You're okay, beautiful."

"I w-… want… my… d-… dad… please…"

Dave pressed his ear against the door, listening for any signs of life in the hallways.

"Daddy…" Kurt sobbed. Dave could hear the tears in his voice and his breathing was irregular again, coming in short gasps.

"Shh…" He rubbed Kurt's back again.

"Daddy, help me.."

"You're okay."

"Help!"

He couldn't hear any sounds besides Kurt, so he opened the door a crack, peeking through while hiding Kurt in his arms. Nobody was there. He poked his head through the door, looking around and, not seeing anyone, snuck through it and closed it behind him. He gripped Kurt tightly in his arms as he sobbed.

"It… hurts…"

Dave gripped Kurt's legs with his other arm and swung him down, cradling him in his arms. Kurt's head fell against Dave's chest. His entire body was shaking, and Dave hugged him closer protectively.

"W-… water."

"You want some water?"

"Unng…"

"Hey," he said, "you want water?"

Kurt groaned, clearly having trouble staying conscious. "Unng… y-… yes."

"Okay, I'll get you some water," Dave said, "but you have to be quiet, okay?"

"Dad… please…"

Dave shook him a little in his arms to get his attention. "Hey, Kurt, you listening to me? You gotta be quiet, okay?"

"Home… wanna go home…"

Dave sighed impatiently. He pulled Kurt closer to his face, talking right into his ear. "I'll take you home, but you have to be quiet."

"My dad…"

"I'll bring you to your dad."

"O-… okay…"

"But you have to be quiet though, right?"

"Ngnn… y-… yeah…"

"Good boy."


	2. Chapter 2

Getting Kurt to his car was less difficult than he thought it would be. He carried Kurt out the side entrance, shushing him and rubbing his back to keep him calm. He didn't stay as quiet as he'd wanted him to, letting out the occasional whimper or moan of pain before remembering his promise and silencing himself.

Dave was nervous when he stepped outside the school. He looked around, searching for any new sets of eyes that could hurt his situation. Nobody was around, or at least he couldn't see anyone. That thought was unsettling.

He laid Kurt down in the backseat, supporting his head carefully until he could relax into the leather.

"W-… water… please, Dave…"

Dave reached to the front, grabbed his water bottle from the cup holder and brought it to Kurt's mouth. He held his head up, but Kurt seemed to be completely out of it, vaguely begging for sustenance but unknowingly refusing to accept it. Dave poured a little past his swollen lips and into his dry mouth, watching it fall down his chin.

"Drink, baby."

The small taste of the water brought Kurt back to reality, and he lifted his little hand slowly to clutch at Dave's water bottle. He shamelessly sucked down half of its contents until Dave pulled it away, and then he collapsed back on the seat, gasping for breath and shivering.

"H-… h-… home… h-…"

Dave brushed the hair out of Kurt's eyes tenderly. Kurt jumped and shuddered at the contact, his eyes flickering closed and his eyebrows furrowing. "I'm going to get into the driver's seat, okay, baby?"

"Please… h-… home, Dave…" Kurt managed to say between gasps for air. He was still shivering like he was cold, or shaking because he was scared. Either way, Dave took off his letterman jacket and set it down gently over Kurt's little body.

Dave pulled out of the car, examining Kurt to make sure he would be safe like that during the drive. He wondered if he should put a seatbelt on him or something, but he figured that would probably get him worked up, and he appeared to be calming down now with his eyes closed. His begging and whimpering was now almost inaudible, or at least indecipherable, and his breathing was more like sighing, deeper and on its way to relaxed. He gently closed the door, careful not to scare Kurt, then he got into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition, turning up the heat. He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see Kurt lying there. Kurt's face was contorted in pain, the swelling in his lips quite apparent, and Dave could see the beginnings of a small bruise on his cheek. His skin was pale, more pale than usual. Dave wasn't sure why, but the sight sent another jolt of electricity through his body, painfully alerting his sex drive.

Kurt began whimpering again when he put the car into drive. "I want… Finn… want… home…"

Dave tried to ignore him as he pulled into the street, while still checking on him in the rearview mirror. Kurt fell asleep almost immediately, his breath deepening and his muscles relaxing. He still whimpered occasionally and his eyebrows kept furrowing and unfurrowing as he dreamt, but he seemed calmer otherwise. Dave drove home slowly, back to his place, careful not to wake up the sleeping beauty in his backseat.

He parked in his garage. His dad was gone as usual, working late, and his mom was out somewhere with friends, and probably wouldn't be back until later. He saw Kurt's body rock gently when he shifted into park, but he stayed fast asleep.

Dave got out of the car and reached for Kurt in the backseat, wrapping him up in his jacket and lifting him as gently as he could, careful not to wake him. In his arms, Kurt whimpered quietly and his head fell against Dave's chest.

"Mmph…" He grunted.

Dave carried him gently inside and into the living room, cradling him like a baby. He carefully settled him on the couch, then unraveled him from his letterman jacket so he could replace it with a blanket. Kurt exhaled shakily, his eyes squeezing tighter shut and his eyebrows furrowing temporarily before relaxing back into his deep sleep.

Dave stood back, just watching Kurt sleep for a few moments. What was he supposed to do now? Should he do it while he was sleeping? No, he wanted him to be awake. So, he had to wait for him to wake up. What was he supposed to do in the meantime?

_Damnit…_ He thought, almost wishing he hadn't been so rough with him before.

Almost.

A few more moments of watching Kurt's chest moving up and down, and Dave decided that he should leave the room before he couldn't contain himself any longer. He moved to the kitchen and began making himself a sandwich, keeping the door open to the living room so he could keep his eye on Kurt. Kurt was collapsed there on the couch, breathing deeply, his lips parted slightly and his eyes flickering. He had a hand up near his face, clutching the blanket. Dave thought he could see him trembling.

Seeing him like that, so vulnerable, so scared, made Dave forget about his half-made sandwich sitting on the counter in front of him. He leaned back against the fridge, watching Kurt breathe, having to force himself to breathe slowly and ignore his already hardening cock. He had to stop looking at him. He started on his way to his bedroom, but then figured he'd better stay near until he woke up. Dave went back to Kurt on the couch, felt in his pockets for his cellphone and slipped the Blackberry into his pocket – he wouldn't be calling for help anytime soon. Then he closed the door to the living room and set a chair up against the doorknob. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the phone.

There were a few new messages, all from that annoying idiot that Dave hated… the stupid prissy hobbit boyfriend, Blaine.

He opened up the conversation.

Blaine (4:14PM) Think you'll get the blue stains out of your pretty shirt?

Blaine (4:20PM) Text me when you're at the library.

Blaine (4:48PM) Kurt… separation anxiety…

Blaine (5:03PM) Okay, fine, I'll leave you alone, but you have not heard the last of me!

Dave rolled his eyes, shaking his head. What did Kurt see in this guy? The only thing he had going for him was his sexuality!

Dave scrolled up to the top of the conversation. It started early in the morning, with Kurt.

Me (6:58PM) Morning, sunshine!

Blaine (7:02PM) Ugggghhhh….‼‼!

Me (7:03PM) What? :(

Blaine (7:03PM) I wanna go back to sleeeeeep‼!

Me (7:04PM) You can't! We have a date tonight.

Blaine (7:05PM) …I'm suddenly wide awake.

Me (7:06PM) Are you being sarcastic?

Blaine (7:06PM) No! How could I want to go back to sleep when you just reminded me that I get to have sex with you tonight?

Me (7:07PM) :D

Dave's grip on the phone tightened. Great. Now he was envisioning that slutty hobbit with his hands on his beautiful Kurt, having sex with Kurt… and Kurt enjoying it.

He scrolled down despite his fury. The anger the conversation was causing him somehow made it appeal to him more, made him want to read on…

Blaine (2:15PM) hey baby

Me (2:17PM) Aren't you in math class?

Blaine (2:17PM) Yes….

Me (2:17PM) Get to work!

Blaine (2:18PM) Aren't you in history?

Me (2:18PM) Yep!

Blaine (2:19PM) Well then I could say the same thing about you

Me (2:19PM) You're distracting me. :/

Blaine (2:19PM) You've been distracting me all day

Me (2:19PM) Oh really? How so?

Blaine (2:20PM) Tight. Black. Skinny jeans.

Dave had barely noticed the black skinny jeans adorning Kurt's long legs. He'd been too busy imagining what was underneath them. But Blaine had, and Blaine had enjoyed the view. Kurt had probably worn them for Blaine.

Me (2:20PM) That's new?

Blaine (2:22PM) You're sexy.

Me (2:22PM) Now, now, save some of the flattery for tonight, my dear.

Dave shuddered. Tonight, when they were having sex.

Blaine (2:23PM) I'm too impatient!

Supposed to be having sex.

Me (2:23PM) Only two more hours to go until school's done. And then there's just glee, and that's always a fun distraction.

Blaine (2:24PM) Like I said, you're my distractiong right now.

Me (2:24PM) Distractiong, eh? Well, if you'd stop texting me and focus on your math, young man…

Blaine (2:25PM) I can't. I can't stop thinking about you… doing things to you…

Me (2:25PM) Doing things? Like what? You're not a serial killer, are you?

Blaine (2:27PM) Going inside of you.

Dave's hands started to shake. Not only did Blaine have sex with his Kurt, but he topped him. He topped Kurt. And Kurt enjoyed it. The anger and jealousy seeped through his veins like poison, making him shiver in disgust.

Me (2:29PM) *blush*

Blaine (2:30PM) Bending you over and thrusting into you until you scream.

Me (2:32PM) I am bright red right now, I can feel it…

Blaine (2:32PM) You get red like that when I'm fucking you, all down your chest and your back.

Me (2:33PM) Really?

Blaine (2:33PM) Yes.

Dave could imagine Kurt getting red all down his back, nearing his orgasm, moaning in his beautiful high-pitched angel voice, riding back on…

Blaine.

Dave shuddered again.

Me (2:35PM) …

Blaine (2:35PM) What?

Me (2:35PM) I'm…

Blaine (2:35PM) Hard? Me too.

Me (2:36PM) Really? In math class?

Blaine (2:36PM) Like I said, I'm not thinking about math, I'm thinking about you…

Me (2:37PM) Details?

Blaine (2:40PM) Writhing and moaning underneath me, so hot and tight around me… fuck you are so tight I don't even know how you can be that tight

Me (2:40PM) Virgin!

Blaine (2:41PM) And you're so warm and the oh my god the textures inside of you you feel so soft like velvet

Me (2:41PM) I feel like velvet? Hmm…

Blaine (2:42PM) What do I feel like/

Me (2:42PM) That's not a question mark… What now?

Blaine (2:42PM) What do I feel like inside of you?

Me (2:44PM) *blush*

Blaine (2:44PM) No, tell me

Me (2:46PM) Full. Big. You're so big.

Blaine (2:47PM) I fill you up baby

Kurt (2:47PM) Yes.

Blaine (2:47PM) Details?

Kurt (2:50PM) You're so long and hard. And when you go inside of me, you feel kind of cold at first, and wet, but it feels good… and it stretches, and it's kind of pleasure pain when it's just your crown inside of me but then you fill me up and you go so deep in me and…

Blaine (2:50PM) And?

Me (2:51PM) Oh my God I'm totally hard… I am totally hard in history class… Damnit, Blaine, now what do I do?

Blaine (2:51PM) We have ten minutes talk to me.

Me (2:52PM) Are you hard?

Blaine (2:52PM) Quite prominently…

Me (2:53PM) :D

Me (2:57PM) Blaine?

Me (3:02PM) Blaine…

Me (3:06PM) :( See you in glee?

Blaine (3:07PM) Sorry the teacher caught me and took my phone away for the last ten minutes

Me (3:07PM) Ha! You got caught sexting!

Blaine (3:08PM) You had a boner in history class!

Me (3:08PM) …touche.

Blaine (3:09PM) I love you

Me (3:10PM) Nyaw, Blainey bear, I love you, too!

Blaine (3:11PM) K almost in the glee room see you soon

Me (3:12PM) You're late! Already in here. Sit with me!

Blaine (3:12PM) K

Dave turned the phone off. He tried to compress the emotions that came with the images flooding his mind, that came with suddenly learning things about Kurt and (he forced himself to say it) Blaine's relationship that he never wanted to believe, never wanted to know. Blaine had taken Kurt's virginity. Blaine had been _inside_ of Kurt.

A small sound from the other room caught his attention. Dave got up. He walked to the living room door, pressing his ear against it.

"Mmm…"

He pushed the chair aside and peered into the living room. Kurt was lying on the couch motionless, his arms and legs tensed in the fetal position under the thin blanket. His eyes were closed, his face red and tearstained. The bruise on his cheek was purple now and growing, though fortunately small enough to be explained by something simple, maybe a fall or a jock from McKinley shoving him into a locker. Spit was sliding down the side of his mouth and onto the couch cushion and the blanket. Another substance was crusting on his chin, white and shiny in a way that rose life between Dave's legs.

A newly refreshed urge to attack Kurt through his unconsciousness threatened to overwhelm Dave, but Kurt was hurting enough right now. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and his little shoulders were shaking with cold and fear. He was just about to close the door when Kurt made another sound.

"Blaine…"

The sound of the name sent jolts of electric anger down Dave's spine and right to his crotch. The perfect, prissy boyfriend, who'd sexted Kurt during history class, who'd made plans to have sex with him tonight, who'd had sex with him before. Who'd been inside of him.

_Deep breaths, Dave…_ Dave tried to force himself to calm down. It was evoking more anger, anger that he would undoubtedly take out on Kurt if it became serious, but Kurt was beaten up enough. Slamming his head against the wall had probably been a bad idea. Dave was positive that he was concussed.

"B-… Blaine…"

Dave took a deep breath, compressing the anger, but the word just kept repeating over and over in his mind, images of that prissy boyfriend's school photo in Kurt's locker, of that hobbit holding his hand, touching him, taking his clothes off and making him moan in pleasure. Images of that stupid fairy being inside of him, feeling the tight, velvety-smoothness of his near-virgin body…

Dave stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. Kurt's breathing was louder now, and quicker.

He was waking up.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt's breathing sped up as he awoke, clutching his head and moaning in pain. "D-… dad…" He whimpered, then he groaned again, something that sounded like "ow", or was supposed to sound like that.

Fury was boiling in the pit of Dave's stomach. He walked towards Kurt, dropping his phone on the coffee table, and sat down on the couch beside him. He put an arm over his body, slipping his hand under Kurt's shoulder and holding his back, lifting him up slightly. Dave kept getting flashes of Kurt's beautiful blue eyes as they fluttered opened and closed. He was definitely sensitive to the light, even though it was fairly dark with just a lamp on in the corner – a sign of his concussion. Dave could've calmed down, given in to his beauty, but all he could think about was somebody else looking into them, somebody with freakishly huge black eyebrows and uncontrollable eyes that dropped down to Kurt's tight skinny jeans during the day.

Kurt held a shaking hand over his eyes and looked around, confused. When he spotted Dave, he gasped and started shaking. He probably could've vibrated off the couch if Dave hadn't been holding him.

"It's okay." Dave said. He tried to sound calm, comforting, but his anger made the words sound forced and insincere. Kurt bit his lip and whimpered. Dave set him back down, sliding his hand out from under him and beginning to rub comforting circles on his chest, slowly. He tried to calm his voice. "It's okay…" That was a little better, but nowhere near what it had sounded like before, when he'd thought Kurt was a virgin…

"Dad…"

Dave stroked Kurt's little chest, his comforting circles becoming more and more like groping as he touched, finding and hooking his nipple, dipping his thumb into his belly button, and slipping his hand around his neck. He tried to compress the anger and forget about…

No, he wouldn't even mention the name.

Dave reached for Kurt's nipple and felt the tightness in his jeans again. Kurt whimpered and lifted his arms, trying to push him away, but his face contorted in pain and he covered it again with his hands, groaning. The circles Dave was rubbing on his chest became smaller as he rubbed around the nipple, feeling the slight raise of flesh over Kurt's ribcage and getting excited when his nipple became hard. He pinched it eagerly.

"Ow! Dave, don't." Kurt cried out suddenly, jumping back from the violent touch and reaching his arms out to block him, ignoring his painful headache.

"It's okay." Dave said. He rubbed his nipple again, his hand flat on Kurt's small chest, but Kurt was aware now of what was happening. He pushed at Dave, struggling, kicking his legs and whimpering frantically. Dave fought him off easily, shushing him as gently as he could, but Kurt was stubborn. He continued to struggle, giving Dave one hard kick right in his stomach and winding him. Dave clutched his stomach with a groan, and watched Kurt lunge forward off the couch.

"Mph…" Kurt stilled, facedown on the carpet. "Ohh…" His hands returned to his head and he whimpered with pain. Dave just watched him as he lay there, regaining his breath. Kurt wasn't trying to escape now. His head must really be hurting him.

_Good,_ Dave thought bitterly. He reached down and grabbed Kurt roughly around his hips, pulling him up and dropping him face-up on the couch. Kurt cried out and faintly struggled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Dave leaned in towards his face. If he was going to be a little jackass, if he was going to be rough and mean and a slut, Dave would treat him as such.

"I swear to God, if you don't calm the fuck down, I'm going to slit your goddamn throat, Hummel."

This statement only made him struggle more. He kicked at Dave, pushing against his chest and his face. Dave groaned in exasperation. Furious, he clutched Kurt's arms and pulled them up over his head, his grip tight enough to bruise Kurt's thin wrists, then sat on his legs and undid his belt.

Kurt screamed. "No, Dave, no!"

"You're only making this harder on yourself."

Kurt cried, his voice hysterical. "Dave, please! Oh God, no!"

Dave brought the belt up to Kurt's wrists and tied it far too tight around them. He attached the other end to the corner table beside the couch, then, in a fit of boiling anger, slapped Kurt hard across the face.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Kurt was silenced, his head thrown to one side. His cheek was quickly turning red in the shape of Dave's big hand. He looked up slowly with tears brimming in his eyes, his breath coming in shaky gasps. A tear slid down his cheek. He looked so small and pathetic underneath him that Dave almost felt bad.

"It's okay!" Dave shouted, in as comforting a voice that he could manage with it raised so loudly. He took in a few deep breaths, watching the tears slide down Kurt's face and the redness on his cheek begin to look more painful. That definitely didn't do much for his concussion. Dave reached a hand up to brush the hair out of Kurt's eyes, causing him to close them and sob.

Now that he was calmer, Dave looked back down at Kurt's chest. He should get this over with – his parents were going to come home sometime tonight, and Kurt was making this last longer than he thought it would. The blanket was around Kurt's waist now, neglected over his shivering legs. Dave gingerly slipped his hand under Kurt's sweater and came to rest on the nipple over top of his undershirt.

Kurt sobbed.

He pinched it again, more gently this time, rolling it around in his fingers. His breathing was quicker now as he felt his erection growing. His fingers slipped under Kurt's other shirt, feeling the softness of his skin from his neck down to that sweet spot, the slight raise over his ribcage, and then the hard little nub in the center. He traced circles around it, feeling it out, memorizing its shape. Then his fingers slowly trailed across his little chest to the other nipple, touching it until it grew hard for him, too.

"Dave." Kurt begged, his voice deep with pleading. Another tear slid down his pale face. "Please."

Dave stared into Kurt's beautiful eyes and pinched his nipple again, harder than before. "Enjoy it, baby. I know you can." He grudgingly thought back to that conversation Kurt had had with Blaine. He repeated, "I know you can."

Kurt inhaled shakily, and sobbed. "I don't want this."

Dave ignored him. He trailed his hand down under Kurt's shirt, feeling the softness of his skin, soft like he moisturized every night. He refused to think of Eyebrows trailing his hands down this body, tried not to wonder if this skin was kept so soft for his hands. A fresh sheet of anger washed over Dave.

He refocused. "I'm going to take your shirt off, okay?"

Kurt bit his lip and looked up at Dave pleadingly, tears shining in his eyes and on his cheeks.

Dave reached up and undid the belt, giving Kurt a warning look but holding his hands still just in case. He pulled Kurt up against his chest and pulled his sweater and his skintight undershirt off hastily. Naked from the waist up, he lay Kurt back down on the couch and tied his arms once more, gazing in awe at his pale chest. He reached down and rubbed his pink nipples with his thumbs, gripping the sides of his little ribcage, trying to keep his own breathing slow as his erection continued to grow in his pants. He trailed his hands, palms down with the fingers spread and groping, down over his hips and onto his flat stomach. The muscle there was lightly defined and the skin was soft and flawless under his hands. Everything about Kurt looked so small in comparison to Dave's big hands, and fragile. Dave relished in the idea that he could so easily press down a little harder with his fingers, squeeze around Kurt and listen as the bones broke.

Kurt drew in a shaky breath. When Dave looked up at him, his eyes were squeezed shut and he was breathing slowly through his mouth, trying to calm himself down. Dave brought a hand up to cup around Kurt's face, gently stroking the red handprint with his thumb. Kurt's eyebrows furrowed at the touch and his head shied away. His entire body was shivering.

Dave returned his attention to that body. He ran his hands down over his chest, groping his pecs and his waist tighter this time. Kurt squeaked in pain when his hands ran back up even tighter, but he didn't loosen his grip. Instead, he tightened it, rubbing his thumbs in circles around him and leaving red marks. He leaned down, bringing his mouth to a nipple and bit down. He sucked it, rolling his tongue around it and kissing it. The noises Kurt made almost sounded like he was enjoying it.

"Sensitive?" Dave smiled erotically, and his voice was breathy. "How's that feel, baby? You like that?" He sat up and returned one hand to play with Kurt's nipple, reaching down the other to palm his own erection.

"No." Kurt said blatantly, eyes still tightly shut.

"No?" Dave asked.

"Please… please stop." His voice broke on the last word, and his face contorted as a new round of tears surfaced on his pretty face.

"So, you don't like that. Well, then, I guess I'd better do something else for you." He pulled out his penis, exhaling in relief at the released pressure. "Okay…" He said breathily, preparing himself. He reached up, undid the belt tying Kurt's hands and pulled one down, securing the other once again above his head. Kurt's eyes were opened now, squinted slightly with his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to hold back the tears that slid down his face anyway. Dave held his hand, savoring the soft skin and the long, nimble fingers. He used both hands to massage it gently, soothing him.

"No…"

"You'll like this. If you let yourself, you will." Dave guided Kurt's fingers down to his crotch, and then with a groan of pleasure, wrapped them around his half-hard cock.

Kurt shivered and sobbed at the contact. His head spun away in the other direction and he tried to yank his hand back, but with Dave's fingers holding him in place, he ended up pumping his dick instead. Dave moaned, guiding Kurt's hand up and down, wrapping his own hands tightly around his little one.

Kurt wasn't holding back the tears now. He let himself sob, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, the tears pouring out of him in his humiliation.

Dave guided Kurt's thumb over the tip of his dick, making him rub the pre-come around it. He knew he'd have to stop soon or he was going to come all over his couch.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Nngg…"

"Come on, I bet you do this to Blaine all the time." Dave tightened his grip on Kurt's hand around his cock, making him pump it more vigorously despite his growing need to come apart. "I bet you love doing it, too. I bet you moan when you're touching him, you look up at his face and let him touch you while you're doing it to him, touch your legs and your ass in your skinny jeans. Don't you?" Dave glared down at the beautiful body underneath him.

Kurt sobbed, turning to look up at Dave with hurt and embarrassment glowing prominently in his eyes.

"You probably get hard from doing it to him, too, from him touching you, don't you?" Dave growled.

Then determination surfaced on Kurt's face, the usual stubbornness that he was famous for. He glared right back at Dave and answered him honestly, confidently, a simple, "Yes."

Dave squeezed his hand tighter. "You like giving him a hand job, you whore?"

"Yes." His voice shook, but his face remained hard through his uneven breathing.

"You put it in your mouth, too? Do you blow him lots, you fucking slut? You probably blow him until you come because you like it so much."

"Yes."

Dave smirked. "Maybe we should do that, then."

"No."

"Why not, if you like it so much?"

"Because I only like it with him."

Dave became furious again. He ripped Kurt's hand off of his erection and tied it up again. Kurt was whimpering underneath him, feeling the waves of anger coming off of Dave like heat. Dave straightened up, looked down at Kurt's suddenly uncertain face, and slapped him hard. His head flew to one side and he gasped in pain.

"You like that fucking hobbit's cock?" He slapped him again, making Kurt cry out in pain and fear. "You like taking him in your hand, in your mouth, up your fucking ass? You like how big he has?" He slapped him hard again, and Kurt burst into tears.

"Dave, please, I'm gonna…"

Dave slapped him again to silence him, and grabbed him around the throat. He leaned down, an inch from his pretty little face, glaring into his wet eyes. "You like sending him messages in school telling him how good he feels in you, how he fills you up, you little fag?"

Kurt gasped for breath as Dave pushed on his throat. His eyes widened slightly, taking in air. He stared into Dave's eyes pleadingly, the tears leaking out. "Dave…" He croaked, and he suddenly felt the absence of his cellphone in his pocket.

Dave felt a twitch under his arm on Kurt's stomach. He looked down at it as Kurt gasped and squeaked, watched it tighten again before realizing that he was gagging. He took his hand off his throat and Kurt sobbed again.

"I'm gonna…" He gagged. "I'm gonna…"

Dave groaned loudly, frustration oozing out of his voice. He pulled Kurt's head up slightly and tipped him to the side as much as he could.

"I'm gonna…" A whitish substance projected out of Kurt's mouth, falling down his chin, onto his arm and the couch. It dripped off of him onto the floor, more of it bubbling up from his throat and seeping out of him. He gagged and choked on it, trying to spit it out, and it kept coming out of him, pouring out. His face was contorted with the pain. When he was finally done, he rested his head back in exhaustion, breathing shakily and sobbing quietly.

Kurt looked down at the vomit on his body, white and hot. _Oh God_, he thought. At least it was out of him, he told himself, repeating it like a mantra in his head as he closed his eyes, refusing to look at the half-digested semen dripping off of his shoulder.

Dave grabbed the blanket off of Kurt's legs and used it to clean the throw-up off of his mouth and his chest. Some of it had hit Dave's hands, too, and he wiped that off, taking in deep breaths to calm his angry sex drive. "You know what?" He said to a semi-conscious Kurt. "Let's just keep going."

Dave inched up and turned on the couch so he was sitting beside Kurt's ribcage, gazing down at his naked stomach and long legs. He gripped around Kurt's waist roughly. If he wasn't so furious, he would've loved how small and thin it was, loved how perfect and pretty it looked under his hands. In his anger, however, all he could think about was how he could so easily control that body, keep it still and do whatever he wanted to it without any consent at all from its owner. His hands trembled in annoyance and want as he trailed them down, hitting his jeans. He wanted to slip his fingertips underneath, but they were far too tight. How did Kurt get these things on? Dave inched forward, ignoring the fact that Kurt had just burst into tears for the hundredth time and was now sobbing shamelessly at the top of the couch. He undid the button and rolled down the zipper, savoring the sounds and the image, then slipped his fingers underneath on either side of Kurt's hips. He rubbed them roughly, feeling their shape as he stared at the natural bulge between Kurt's gorgeous thighs.

"Okay…" He said again, feeling the anger alleviate as his erection pulsed with desire. He brought a hand to his dick and pumped it a few times. After an internal debate, he lifted a shaking hand and rested it gently between Kurt's legs.

"Oh God…" Kurt sobbed, beginning to panic. "Dave, please… just let me go… let me go home."

Dave ignored him, feeling the bulge under his hand that was just resting there. He had to force himself not to play with himself for fear of coming just from touching Kurt's crotch. He let himself get used to this new feel under his hand, just a few moments, before gently squeezing it, warranting another squeak and then sob from Kurt. He slipped his other hand back down to Kurt's hip, feeling his penis through his jeans, trying to ignore his own weeping erection.

Impatient, Dave reached forward and pushed down Kurt's pants, careful not to rip them as they clung to his thighs. He followed them down his legs with his hands feeling the soft skin and his eyes devouring the barely noticeable light hair. He unhooked them from Kurt's feet and tossed them beside his other clothes on the ground.

He took in Kurt's beautiful legs with glazed eyes, not wanting to miss any detail. A hand ran up the side of one, from his knee up over his skintight boxers to his hip and down again. His skin was alabaster, like marble, his muscles just lightly defined over them and the shape perfect like a sculpture.

Dave's eyes were admiring the perfect legs in front of him, worshipping their perfection, but his ears were distracted by Kurt's sobs, growing uncontrollable at the top of the couch.

"D-… Dave, please… p-... please, oh, God, Dave please…"

"Shh…" Dave cooed. "It's okay…" His hands moved to grip Kurt's legs, rolling his thumbs around his inner thighs eagerly. Kurt squeaked in pain. Dave was being too rough, but he didn't care. His hands felt their way up to his boxers and he slipped his thumbs underneath them, beginning to push them down…

But Kurt screamed.

"Shh…"

Kurt screamed again. "No! No! No!"

"It's okay."

His breath was coming in quick, gasping squeaks, his hands prying frantically at the belt holding them in place. "No! No!" He was becoming hysterical, screaming and crying and kicking with all of the power in his body.

Dave tried to console him. He pinned down his writhing torso with his hands, shushing him in as calm a voice as he could, but Kurt wasn't paying attention. Dave felt his stomach clench under his hands again as he gagged, his screaming turning into short cries as his body tried to throw up his fear. Afraid of him choking on this new round of vomit, Dave turned him onto his stomach, grabbing the blanket and laying it beside his face. Kurt's fear was doubled with the vulnerability of his new position and he struggled wildly through the clenching of his stomach and the seemingly involuntary vibrations of his vocal chords.

Dave pinned him down, fighting the urge to slap him or punch him. Physical violence had shut him up the last few times. Why was he fighting the urge? Why didn't he just hit him and get it over with?

Kurt was shaking violently under his arms, screaming and crying random pathetic words, meaningless to him except for their slight possibility of getting him help. Dave had reached up and was holding his wrists in place now, wrists that were red and sore from prying at the belt. If he kept struggling, they'd start to bleed soon.

Dave leaned down, putting all of his weight on the writhing body underneath him. "Kurt," he whispered in his ear, "breathe. Breathe, Kurt."

Kurt sobbed loudly and turned his head away, but Dave pushed him back in place.

"Kurt. Breathe."

Kurt let out a high-pitched groan, so pathetic and sweet that it made Dave shiver, desire pulsing through him. He clutched Kurt's face and pulled it towards him.

"Breathe or I'll slap you again."

That was a bad idea. Kurt's face contorted and a choked sob escaped him. He squeezed his eyes closed, shut his mouth and breathed heavily, quickly. Too quickly.

"Kurt, you're hyperventilating, babe."

Kurt wasn't listening. His hysterics continued, his breath torturing him and filling his lungs too fast, drowning him in air, until finally…

"…Kurt?"

He lay limp underneath Dave, his face suddenly relaxed in his new unconsciousness.

"Fuck." Dave said. "Thank God." He reached down and quickly pulled Kurt's underwear down before he woke up, sliding them over his perfect thighs and off of his limp feet. Then, after a deep, calming breath forcing patience into his dick, he looked up.

Dave gasped when he saw his naked ass, so perfect and pale. Big, actually, or full would be a better word. It raised high above his thigh in a mound of tight muscle, round and firm like a photo-shopped supermodel. It wasn't just his pants that made that thing look good. No, that thing made his pants look good. That thing deserved its own Hollywood star.

Dave wasted little time just gazing at it, instead reaching out and resting his hands on either cheek. As if just from the slight contact, Kurt began to stir.

"Unng…" He gasped, breathing gently. How long had Dave been staring at him? "Unng… daddy…"

"It's okay, babe." Dave said absentmindedly. He started massaging the flesh under his hands, relishing over it feeling as tight as it looked. "God… you're ass is so amazing… so beautiful…"

Kurt inhaled sharply, disoriented. "B-… Blaine?"

Dave spun towards him, his hands leaving Kurt's ass to grip around his shoulders, pulling him up slightly. Kurt gasped and screamed with the sudden movement, his eyes squeezing shut again and his hands trying to release themselves to grip his aching head. "Don't fucking say that name!" Dave shouted at him.

Kurt started crying again. Dave just dropped him back onto the couch and quickly returned his hands to Kurt's ass. Kurt whimpered. "D- … Dave…" He said, remembering where he was too suddenly, and the gripping fear started bubbling in his chest again.

"Shh…" Dave said, annoyed.

"No… p-… please."

Dave just gazed down at his naked ass, at the dark space between them. His erection was becoming very difficult to ignore, begging to see that spot between Kurt's perfect thighs that would relieve it. He was quick to listen to his throbbing crotch, gripping Kurt's ass on either side and gently spreading him apart.

Kurt let out a high-pitched squeak, near to a gasp, at the sensation. He stayed as tense and still as his body would let him, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as his mind refused to accept this fate. He tried to envision himself somewhere else, anywhere else, anywhere but here. New York. With Blaine. On stage, singing, the audience applauding them as they performed a perfect routine, his father in the front row cheering him on… Then he felt Dave's finger slowly trailing over his perineum, resting over his entrance, and trembling slightly with his shaking breath. Kurt exhaled a low, growled whimper.

Dave traced gentle circles around the little opening there. The smallness of it made him yearn for it even more, the beautiful pink ring around its obvious tightness, even tighter from Kurt's fear. He kept him spread with one hand on one side of his ass, pulling more than he needed to. Dave bit his lip. His finger stopped in the center of the little hole, pressed against it, feeling the muscle and the fearful shudders from its owner. He pressed against it more, fighting with the resistance until his finger triumphed and the tip slid inside.

"Ah! Dave, no…" Kurt sobbed.

The heat caught Dave by surprise. He felt the walls inside of Kurt, soft like hot velvet, just how Blaine had described it. He could barely hear Kurt's screams, his begging and his new fit of hysteria as his finger slid in further. He pushed it in as far as he could. It clung to him, opening just enough for his finger to fit in and then hugging him viciously.

Dave forced himself to check on Kurt. His face was buried in his arms and his chest was heaving up and down, sobs torturing him as his breath sped up close to hyperventilating and panic overwhelmed him. His thighs were tensed, hard as rock. Dave rubbed a few gentle circles on his back, but his dick was so hard it was painful and he couldn't concentrate. He pulled his finger out, quickly regretting it when Kurt gasped and shuddered in pain at the roughness.

Kurt was babbling, throwing out random words again through his quick, panicked breaths. His body was frozen in fear, unable to fight for its purity. Kurt's hysteria forced Dave to hurry. He moved on the couch so he was kneeling between Kurt's legs, and pulled him back towards him, his ass right in front of his crotch. Kurt was just screaming and crying now, his vocal chords trying everything in their power to prevent this horrible thing from happening to him.

Dave pushed Kurt's legs far apart. His dick was absolutely aching now, near to leaping forward with a mind of its own to get what it had been waiting so patiently for, stolen or not. He reached forward, his cock dripping pre-come between Kurt's thighs. He watched the wetness falling between his cheeks, some of it hooking at the opening and seeping inside.

Kurt held his breath.

Dave moved his cock forward, lining it up with Kurt's now wet entrance, loving how tiny it was as he covered it completely with his dick. Kurt's thighs were shaking uncontrollably and his hips were subconsciously pulling away from Dave, who just rested against him, taking in deep, growled breaths as he stared at him in hunger.

_A meadow with Blaine… a meadow with Blaine… _Kurt chanted to himself. The tears leaked out of his tightly shut eyes.

Dave pushed forward. Kurt restrained him, tightening and fighting him off as much as he could, but Dave was far too strong. He spread, wide, Dave watching as he stretched into a thin line around him, opening with hateful reluctance as he pushed himself inside. The sensation poured through his body, relief flooding him in an almost overwhelming bath of pleasure.

Kurt's eyes flew open and his mouth dropped with the sensation. He felt Dave entering him, felt every inch as he forced himself inside. He was too big, he was going to tear him, or break him in half. He was killing him. He was dying. _Oh God, daddy!_

Dave was pulling back now, emptying Kurt but leaving him feeling stretched and painfully open. His legs were too far apart, his groin muscles ached from the pressure, his thighs and stomach muscles sore from the tension, his head aching and his ass throbbing and –

"Ung!"

Dave thrust in hard. All of the air plunged out of Kurt's lungs in one swift dive for safety. The stretch at his entrance burned far too much. Dave was going to rip him open, he was going to leave him mangled and beyond repair.

"Ah!"

Dave thrust forward again, forcing whatever little air Kurt had brought inside of himself right back into the fabric of the couch. "Dave," he managed to sob pleadingly before the air was forced out of him again and the pain spread inside of him, throbbing in his abdomen and burning at his entrance.

Dave thrust forward, hard. Kurt was far too small for him and he was being too rough. He was going to hurt him, tear him, something, but he felt so tight and hot around him, so smooth but textured and spread for him…

Kurt couldn't stop the tears from flowing. The sobs raked over his body painfully, leaving him gasping for air whenever he possibly could as Dave thrust into him. He shivered and cried, whimpering, trying to beg for Dave to stop, feeling as though he was begging for his life but no words could be formed with the pain clouding his panicked mind. Dave was speeding up, forcing him to stretch without time to adjust. The pain built more than Kurt thought possible and he subconsciously clenched around Dave's cock to try and keep himself closed. But the sudden tighter sensation just excited his rapist, and he moved faster, harder, too fast, forcing him too wide open but bringing him up to his orgasm so fast…

Suddenly, Kurt screamed a new type of scream. This wasn't the scream of terror or pain that he'd been letting out before, not a pleading scream or an anguished scream that Dave had grown familiar with in the past few hours. This was a scream that actually scared Dave a little, a scream that echoed through the walls of his living room, seeped under the doors and through the windows, in no doubt alerting the sixth sense of every person in the neighborhood. It was a scream of absolute agony.

Dave noticed that Kurt felt different inside now, but he kept moving with his orgasm too near, moving faster and harder than before. He didn't feel so painfully tight now, but it was good, allowing him to move more as he felt the familiar boiling feeling in his stomach, the growing bubble of pleasure expanding in his abdomen, spreading through his legs and reaching for the tip of his cock and leaving him so close, so near, so ready, until he reached his edge and he was moaning in ecstasy, launching his come deep inside of Kurt's body as satisfaction poured over him like ice water.

Kurt stared into the couch cushion with still, glassy eyes, a scared and dreadful emotion lingering in their depths. His mouth hung half-open, his skin stark white like a corpse. The pain was shooting through his body. He felt a thick, warm wetness dripping down his legs that he feared wasn't from Dave.

It wasn't. Coming down from his orgasm, Dave looked down between Kurt's thighs and sighed. His legs and the couch were soaked in red, sticky blood, and it was still coming. Swearing, he pulled out of him as gently as he could, ignoring Kurt's low groan of pain. He spread his thighs slightly.

"What… what…" Kurt tried, his voice high-pitched and panicked. "What did you… it hurts… Dave… it hurts!"

Dave sighed and let go of his thighs, pulling up his own pants and somehow still managing to bask in his own satisfaction despite Kurt's bad state. He moved on the couch and sat down beside Kurt's ribcage again, settling a hand gently on his back. "It's just a little tear, Kurt, it's okay."

Kurt sobbed, his breath jagged again. "It… it hurts! Oh, God, Dave, it hurts… it hurts…" He repeated it over and over again through shaky, vocalized breaths.

Dave rubbed his back carefully. "I know… I know…" He undid his belt and released Kurt's hands. Kurt brought them down slowly, breathing traumatically and giving into the sobs. He rested his head in his hands, his body uncomfortably tensed.

Dave gripped him around the waist and lifted him as gently as he could, warranting another round of choked sobs and pleading gasps from his angelic captive. He pulled him into an embrace against his chest, slipped his arms around his thighs and stood with Kurt's legs clinging around his hips.

"Help me…" Kurt groaned, wishing with all his might that it was his father holding him instead of the man that just broke him in half.

"It's okay." Dave whispered gently in his ear.

Kurt just sobbed again in response.

Dave carried him to the bathroom, walking slowly and trying to keep him still. He lay him on the floor, gently, lying a towel down underneath him to soak up the blood. Kurt whimpered.

"Please… h-…help me, Dave…"

Dave turned the water on in the tub, filling it maybe a centimeter up the sides as Kurt cried and shook on the floor. Dave had an arm slung over his chest protectively, trying to warm him as he lay there naked.

The sound of water pouring was both comforting and unnerving for Kurt. He tried to focus on its steady rhythm but he knew it was a bath being drawn for him. He didn't want a bath. That would be painful.

"D- … Dave, please…"

"It's okay, Kurt."

"No…"

Dave reached for the little body, crumpled and groaning on the floor beside him, and gingerly lifted him up towards the tub.

Kurt turned and, seeing the water, flinched and squeaked, weakly struggling to get away from it. "N-…no!"

"I'm just going to wash the blood off, Kurt."

"No…"

"It's okay, I'll be gentle. I won't hurt you." Dave started lowering him into the water, facedown, but Kurt sobbed and held onto his arms with a death grip. "What's wrong?" He held him with his legs in the water and his torso halfway up, supported by Dave's gentle hands.

"Y-…you'll get w-water in me…"

Dave started lowering him down again. "I won't get water in you." He said firmly.

"B-but… I don't want…"

"I won't get any water in you, Kurt. It's okay." He settled him in the water, grabbing a folded towel to lay under his abdomen and keep his lower end above the waterline. "See? You're safe."

Kurt shivered, the warm water that flowed against his chest and his legs only making the rest of him feel colder. "Be… be careful…" He said, his voice high and pleading.

"I will." Dave grabbed a washcloth from the rack above the toilet and submerged it in the water. "I'll be careful, Kurt." He splashed some water over his thighs and rubbed off the blood, moving up to his glutes with the washcloth. He whispered calming things in a gentle voice. Kurt kept shivering and whimpering quietly in his high pitch, but he didn't struggle. He was far too concerned with the injury between his legs and the pain pulsing through his body to care that it was Dave taking care of him. Dave, his rapist.

Dave parted his thighs as gently as he could. He squeezed out the washcloth and worked at wiping away the blood and newly discharged semen off of him without pulling on his entrance or applying too much pressure. Kurt whimpered every time he touched him there, his body shaking more with the anticipation of pain.

The bath was red when Dave lifted Kurt out of it, his skin reddish from the tinted water. He wrapped a towel around him and held him close to dry him off. "See? No water in you."

Kurt sniffled in response, leaning his head against Dave's chest and closing his eyes. His body was aching, and the lights hurt. His head was still pounding from the trauma it had gone through. Thoughts of his father kept showing up in his mind, making the tears gather behind his eyes despite the dehydration he should have had. Did he have this much liquid in his body, to be crying constantly like this? He was going to shrivel into a prune if he kept it up.

Dave rocked him gently, patting his skin dry and watching the white towel turn pink with watered-down blood. He ruffled his hair with the towel.

"Okay?" Dave whispered in his ear.

Kurt inhaled shakily. "Will you t-take me home?" He paused with his eyes still closed. "Please?"

Dave caressed his little shoulder gently. "I'll get home, Kurt." He pulled him in closer. "I'll get you home."


	4. Chapter 4

Dave lifted Kurt off the bathroom floor, ignoring his sobbed and whimpered protests. "I'll take you home, Kurt." He wrapped the towel gently around his body, pushing it up between his legs to catch all of the blood. "Don't worry. It's okay."

He carried him back into the living room and set him down on his dad's armchair, leaning down to gather up his clothes from the floor. Then he pulled the coffee table up closer to Kurt and sat down, beginning to pull his undershirt on over his head. Kurt whimpered, but didn't fight it. He just let the towel fall off of his shoulders and onto the couch, far too concerned with the pain of his concussion and fissure to really notice what was happening. He shivered. Dave straightened out his undershirt over his stomach and then pulled the sweater over his head, carefully pulling his arms through each of the sleeves and then smoothing it out down his back and his chest. He clutched Kurt's underwear and skinny jeans in his hands, unsure if he should even bother. He'd get blood all over them, and the tight jeans would probably just be painful for him anyway.

Dave left Kurt on the armchair, unconcerned with his possible escape, and walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He dropped Kurt's pants on his bed having left his underwear downstairs, and then rummaged through his dresser, searching for something that might fit Kurt's thin legs. He ended up deciding on a pair of old sweats with a drawstring he figured he'd be able to tighten enough to keep from falling down, and then he walked back downstairs.

Kurt was still huddled on the armchair where he'd left him. He looked so small and vulnerable there, more than usual, probably because Dave was used to seeing his father sitting there. His father was bigger than him, therefore definitely bigger than Kurt, a lot bigger, though that wasn't saying much when considering how thin and small-boned his angel was.

Dave resumed his position on the coffee table and held onto Kurt's underwear. He felt a twinge of nervousness when reaching for his legs, not wanting Kurt to start panicking again, but Kurt was still acting confused, like he was lost or unaware. Dave gently lifted his legs up, individually slipping each foot into its place, and carefully started pulling them up his body, his fingers sliding over his smooth skin, up to the tops of his thighs. He snuck an arm underneath Kurt's back and lifted him gently, resulting in nothing more but a small squeak from Kurt, quickly pulled his boxers under the towel and then set him down again.

Kurt had his eyes squeezed shut, clutching onto his sweater with white knuckles and his face pressed against the back of the armchair. He was barely disturbed when Dave pulled his own sweatpants over his legs, tightening and tying the drawstring in a knot to keep them up. He took the towel away, ignoring the large splotch of blood that had already seeped out of Kurt's body. There was a lot of blood for such a little cut.

Dave leaned forward and lifted him tenderly, letting Kurt's head fall against his chest easily, and then carried him into the kitchen. He kept him in his arms while grabbing a roll of paper towel and unraveling half of it, and then he undid the drawstring and settled it between Kurt's thighs, pressing it against the source of the blood with caution. It stuck there, clinging to the sticky wetness that had arisen from him since the bath. Dave retied the drawstrings, thinking it adorable how they hung off of him and made him look even smaller.

Dave hugged Kurt into his chest more and was about to carry him back into the living room when the corner of his eye happened to catch the time on the microwave.

_Ten-thirty? Ten-thirty already? That can't be right…_

He speed-walked as fast as he could with Kurt in his arms into the living room, grabbing the Blackberry off of the coffee table. It only clarified his fear.

_Fuck…_

Either one of his parents could walk in at any time now. And there was a beaten and injured boy in their house. The couch was covered in blood, semen and vomit. Dave himself was covered in blood, semen and vomit. There was probably blood in the bathroom, blood in the kitchen, blood down the hallway and up the stairs just from his walk to his bedroom.

_Fuck!_

_Okay, think…_

He had to clean up, and he had to get rid of Kurt, hide him, get him home, something. His parents couldn't see this, couldn't know what he'd done, not now, not like this. What would happen to him? What would happen to Kurt?

_Get ahold of yourself!_

Dave gently sat Kurt back down on the couch, looking around the living room. He had to clean up first, then he'd decide what to do with the child he'd kidnapped. He tore the cushions off of the couch and pulled off their slipcovers, suddenly thanking his mom for prioritizing the ease of cleaning. Some blood had soaked through into the cushion, but he didn't have time to deal with that now. He flipped it over quickly, straightening out the cushions so they looked relatively normal, and ran to the laundry room to throw the slips into the washing machine. He eyed out the floor on his way back, peeking up the stairs and straining his eyes to see down the hallway. It didn't look like he'd gotten any blood there, but he'd have to double check to make sure. He moved through the living room and to the kitchen. There was nothing in there except a bloody handprint on the paper towel, but that was easy to clean up – he just threw it into the garbage can, pulling out the bag and carrying it with him as well as a cleaner and a towel from under the sink. Back in the living room, he viciously scrubbed at the vomit that had fallen onto the floor, and a few specks of blood. The blood didn't want to come out, but there wasn't much so he figured he could pretend he'd had a nosebleed or something.

The bathroom would probably be the worst. He glanced up at Kurt before heading there with the garbage bag, watching his eyes flickering and his chest moving. It looked like his legs were shaking.

Kurt felt the sudden warmth of a blanket being draped over him. He could see through his clouded vision that it was Dave doing this, staring at him with a look mixed between fear and something Kurt wished he never had to see, and then he was gone, leaving Kurt by himself in Dave's father's chair.

The pain was coursing through Kurt's body, pulsing and pumping through him like a string of electric shocks. It felt systematic, occurring with the same intensity in the same time intervals as if he were a machine, subject to a mishap in his wiring, programmed to feel the steady bursts of pain like a warning for his error. He wished he were like other robots and just beep-beeped instead.

Time appeared to have sped up for Kurt. Almost as fast as he'd left, Dave was back, wearing a new change of clothes and looking a little less stressed than before, and suddenly he was being lifted into the air, his head falling backwards with another stab of pain until Dave's elbow nudged it back up and into his chest. He thought he heard himself gasp with the motion, but in his confusion, he wasn't entirely sure.

Dave held Kurt a little too tightly, suddenly feeling overly protective of him after cleaning up all of his blood. He'd packed a few more towels into the washing machine with the slipcovers and he'd had to wash out the tub with bleach to get rid of the pink tinge. He'd scrubbed the floor as well, even though the few smeared drops of blood could've easily just been wiped up with a wet cloth, and then he'd given the house a quick once-over to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Satisfied, he'd run into his room to change his clothes, hiding the bloody ones under his bed to wash in the morning. He'd taken out the garbage bag, filled with bloody cloths and rags, and left it to be taken care of in the morning by a civil servant. Dave didn't have the time to worry about it himself. Now he held Kurt in his arms, tightening his grip on his thigh and squeezing his waist. Kurt squeaked.

"Mouse," Dave cooed, gazing down at his face with a look of admiration.

Kurt didn't respond.

Dave touched the screen on Kurt's Blackberry with his foot to get the time. It was eleven now. His parents would definitely be coming home soon. Very soon. Which meant if he wanted to get Kurt home tonight, he'd better go now. He clutched Kurt even closer to his chest, probably almost smothering him with his enthusiasm, and carried him to his car in the garage. He was just about to settle him in the backseat when a sound caught his attention. It was the sound of an old truck with a loud engine, getting louder as it drew closer to Dave's house. His dad's truck. His dad was home and Kurt was still here, in his arms, all bruised and near unconscious and torn.

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

Dave chanted the word in his head as he ran back inside, trying to keep Kurt still in his arms. The movement had woken him from his silence and he was whimpering again, spitting out random pathetic words in a voice high with pain. He stood in the kitchen, eyes darting around in a panic, searching for some kind of visual to aid his stunted thoughts. He couldn't think. But he had to hide Kurt.

A car door slammed outside and he heard his father clearing his throat. _Oh God…_ Dave speed-walked through the kitchen and up the stairs, opening the door to his room in haste. He could hide him here, but his parents slept just down the hall. What if he started crying or whimpering again? They'd hear him. They'd definitely hear him.

The front door was opening now, slamming shut, and then he could hear his father taking off his boots. Kurt was still whimpering in his arms now, even after he'd laid him on the bed and covered him in a blanket. He stood over him, shushing and comforting him. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"D-… Dave? Aren't you g-gonna t-take me h-… home?"

"I will, Kurt, mouse, as soon as I can."

"P-…please, Dave, I w-want my… my d-dad…"

"I know, it's okay. You have to be quiet now, okay? Shh." Dave brushed the hair out of his eyes, his fingertips just lightly touching him but his hands shaking with impatience. His dad was walking through the kitchen, probably on his way to the bathroom, and then he'd come upstairs to change.

Kurt sobbed.

"Come on, Kurt, I need you to be quiet…"

"B-…but… Dave… y-you s-said you'd…t-…take me…h-home!" His face was crumpled with the tears, his words coming out through his sobs. Dave wiped the tears away hastily, becoming frantic upon hearing the toilet flushing and the water running. He shushed Kurt again, leaning down to talk in his ear, his voice growing more hurried and fearful. Kurt wasn't listening. His panic was only growing.

"Dave, please!"

"It's okay!" Dave put a hand on his chest to hold him down as he tried to sit up. "Kurt, you need to calm down. You need to be quiet."

The memories of the night were flooding through Kurt's head, the unwanted touching and Dave's attempt at comfort triggering his fear. He pushed at Dave's chest as hard as he could, crying and begging him to bring him home, to let him see his dad, something to make him feel better.

Dave lifted Kurt into his arms, but with his struggling he just ended up on his stomach, draped over Dave's knees on the bed. Kurt panicked at this familiar position and he screamed. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

"No! No! No!"

Dave could hear his father's footsteps on the stairs now. They paused, and then they quickened. "David?" His father's deep voice echoed through the hall, into Dave's room, right into Dave's head and repeated itself over and over in there, ceasing to rest as he tried to contain Kurt in his arms.

Kurt was screaming and struggling, panic and hysteria settling in. Dave needed to calm him down. No, he just needed him to be quiet. He needed him to be still so he could hide him from his father, his father who was on his way to his room now having heard the screams of the boy on his bed. The boy who's blood he'd just spent half an hour frantically cleaning up to prevent this very thing from happening.

_Oh God._

He pulled Kurt closer to him, ignoring the pain when Kurt kicked and shoved at any part of Dave that he could reach. "Kurt," he growled. "You have to be quiet right now. You need to be quiet."

"No! No! No!"

"David?"

His dad was right outside now, the doorknob just about in arms reach. Kurt needed to be quiet. He needed to stop screaming. He just needed to _shut up!_

"Shut up, Kurt, shut up!" He put a hand over his mouth, but Kurt only struggled more, kicking and screaming harder and louder than before.

In a rush of fear and fury, Dave grabbed the lamp off of his bedside table, and with a grunt from the haste, brought it down hard on the side of Kurt's head.

Silence.

Kurt lay there limp, a little bit of blood dripping out of his new wound. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and then closed as he fell into unconsciousness.

"David?"

His dad was right outside now, just about to open the door. Quicker than he thought he could, he'd lifted Kurt up and dropped him on the floor on the other side of his bed, out of sight from his father. He grabbed the remote from his bedside table and turned his TV on just as his dad's head appeared in his door, looking a little worried but mostly just confused.

"Oh, hey, dad." Dave said as casually as he could.

"What are you doing?"

"Just watching some TV." He gestured to the television. It was on some sitcom with a studio audience. Dave hoped his father wouldn't give the uncharacteristic show much thought.

"I thought I heard screaming."

"Oh, yeah, that was on the TV. Sorry, I'll turn it down." He aimed the remote and turned it down a few notches, hoping once more that his father wouldn't notice how low the volume already was.

"Okay. Just keep it down. I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, for sure."

His father closed the door. Dave let out a long, deep exhale of pure relief, then turned to his unconscious Kurt, crumpled and bleeding on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Dave lifted Kurt back onto his bed, pulling him into his arms. He was pale now, more than usual, with blood dripping down over his cheek from the laceration by his forehead. His eyes were closed, relaxed, and his mouth was parted slightly. His face held no expression whatsoever, lost in the depths of unconsciousness.

"Kurt?" He tried, but then withdrew his attempts. This was good. Kurt would be quiet now, and Dave wouldn't have to worry about him having a panic attack and waking up his father.

Kurt was draped over Dave's side. His leg was bent at the knee and resting over his thigh, his hand relaxed low down on his stomach and his head leaning easily inside his shoulder. His little body fit so perfectly there, like they're bodies were moulded together like this, with Kurt squeezed tight to Dave's side. Dave stroked his shoulder, calming himself down.

His thoughts made his stomach drop. If his father had caught him...

Dave glanced over at the clock – almost midnight. His mother should be home soon. She should be home already, actually, but he tried not to think much of it. He already knew he wouldn't have to worry about her catching him. She'd come home, eat some bread, stumble into the shower, and then sleep it off, just like every weekend.

Kurt made a small sound beside him. Dave looked down at the angel in his arms, his hand clutching his hip dominantly. He was still motionless and relaxed, the little bit of blood starting to dry on the side of his face. Dave brushed it off with his finger, having to scrape it a little bit and leaving his skin red. He watched him. Kurt made another high-pitched sound, almost as if he was snoring, but squeaking, and Dave moved his head a little so he could breathe better.

He was beautiful, so small and fragile by Dave, so perfect and pure and…

Dave found his hand creeping towards his crotch. He ruffled Kurt's hair tenderly. He caught a whiff of his shampoo, felt the hairspray and the gel he so expertly used. His hand rested on the growing bulge between his legs as the smell, Kurt's smell, floated through him and filled him with a sudden overwhelming desire. He rubbed Kurt's cheek with his thumb, his aroused breathing speeding up after just calming down, and undid his jeans.

Dave admired Kurt's relaxed face. He loved his plucked eyebrows, his thick eyelashes, his adorable nose, all seemingly so masculine but somehow feminine, not really because of the way they looked but just because they were Kurt's. Dave couldn't take his eyes off of those pink lips, wet and glistening with saliva. He couldn't stop thinking about their openness, their availibility. He stroked his erection, eyes glued to his beautiful mouth.

_Should I…_

Dave lifted Kurt gently off of his shoulder, a little reluctantly when he lost his heat and his comfort. He pushed his head down, gently, holding it there above his crotch with his parted lips relaxed right in front of his erection. Dave's breathing sped up just looking at him like that, his eyes closed and free of fear or pleading, huvvering over his member like a lifeless sex toy. But he wasn't lifeless. No, he was very full of life, stubbornly so. Dave massaged Kurt's soft hair as he pondered this. This little body in his arms was something very special. The bravery he had, the internal support system and the confidence, false or not, allowed him to be something Dave could only dream of being – himself. He had a group of true friends that loved him, a father that accepted him, and _that_ – that preppy hobbit raised on Diagon Alley who he apparently loved enough to bend over for. He had a boyfriend, which was more than Dave could say for himself, or probably ever would.

Dave could envision Kurt's future. Kurt would grow up and graduate like every other Lima kid, go to New York, audition for one play, get the lead, and skyrocket to fame. Then he'd marry a man, adopt some children, raise them to be perfect, successful angels, and die happy, beautiful and fulfilled.

And filled.

With _Blaine._

Now, though, Dave had the pretty body destined for greatness huvvering unconscious over his dick, completely helpless and inevitably open for anything Dave had in mind for. He lowered Kurt's sleeping head down until his lips touched his crown. He could feel the heat of his mouth, blowing against his dick with Kurt's light exhales, and his wet lips, the warm saliva erotically shining on Dave when his lips shifted around his crown. It sent a jolt of excitement through his body with a near overwhelming intensity. Dave gently brought him down, slowly slipping his erection inside the warmth of his mouth with a stifled groan of pleasure, watching every bit of himself enter the perfect body. He memorized how his mouth spread open for him, his teeth just barely grazing his dick and his tongue relaxing down his mouth, brushing against him and releasing waves of pleasure through his body. He felt the roof of his mouth, hard and warm and wet. His lips relaxed around him, puckered slightly with the intrusion, accepting him willingly in their oblivion. He pushed Kurt down until he hit the back of his throat and held him there, basking in the mere thought of filling this beautiful mouth.

Dave was a psychic when it came to his own future. He could see what was coming for him, and he accepted it. He'd grow up and graduate like every other Lima kid, maybe go to college for something his dad talked him into, hopefully on a football scholarship, drop out soon after, get a blue-collar job at a gas station or if he was lucky an office as a salesman. He'd work nine-to-five shifts five days a week and hate it. Most importantly, he'd find a girl that didn't catch onto his sexuality, marry her, watch gay porn before they were ever intimate, have a few kids, be bald by the time he was thirty, never lose weight or figure out why he sweats too much… eventually he'd either off himself from sexual frustration or die from a serious STI that he caught from an illegle hustler. Either way, it was a life without happiness, without self-acceptance, and most of all, without Kurt.

He pulled Kurt up gently, watching his lips catch on his dick and follow it and the saliva stringing from his mouth, and then lowered him back down. He held his chest and his hair steadily, guiding him up and down his dick as his hips began rocking up towards him. Dave closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to just feel the pleasure. He relished in the smallness of Kurt's ribcage under his big hand, memorized the rivets and the hills of tiny bone and muscle. He could feel his heartbeat underneath it, feel the slight raise and fall of it as Kurt breathed shallowly through his nose.

The future was changed now. Dave knew what would happen to himself when he brought Kurt home, but he didn't know what would happen to Kurt. Maybe this would be an eye-opener for him, maybe he'd finally realize that he wasn't attracted to Tolkien characters and leave his boyfriend. Maybe he'd find somebody else, someone that was actually worthy of his beauty. Someone taller than him that could protect him and take care of him, someone that was actually the big, muscular jock that he was clearly attracted to, someone that could actually fill him up when making love to him, not just make him think they did because he had nothing else to compare it to. Kurt needed somebody like…

…like Dave.

Dave looked down at the boy, his boy for tonight. He looked painfully beautiful like this, mouth stretched open to take him, his eyes closed and his throat relaxed. Dave pushed up into him, his thrusts getting steadier as his orgasm drew nearer.

This could be good for Kurt when Dave brought him home. But it could also be bad. The mental conditions of rape victims was common knowledge. Dave knew that most of the time they were traumatized and scarred and sometimes never completely recovered from their experience.

He thrust up into him.

Kurt was strong, though. Kurt could take it.

He thrust up hard.

Kurt was brave and beautiful and nothing could stand in his way. Nothing.

Dave rode out his orgasm with his head hung back, his eyes closed and a moan just barely contained. He clutched Kurt's head too tightly, gripped his ribcage with his nails. He breathed deeply through the high and tried not to imagine what he looked like with his eyes rolling into the back of his head. When he was done, he held himself inside of Kurt for a long time, cherishing having him there. But his cock went limp, and Kurt probably needed to breathe, so he pulled out reluctantly, lifting him gently away from his crotch.

The come just fell out of Kurt's mouth and onto the bedspread underneath him. It dribbled down his skin, thinned out with saliva, and onto his chest like vomit. None of it stayed inside him, but just dripped out, white and bubbly and warmed from his heat. Dave grabbed a tissue from his bedside table and wiped off Kurt's face carefully, keeping him on his side to let it all ooze out. He lay Kurt in the recovery position and set the tissue under his cheek to catch his own come, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and stood.

He looked around.

Dave usually hated his room. He hated the color of his walls, hated his desk, hated his closet. He only went in here to be alone, so, always. He'd pass the time watching TV, or playing video games, or watching videos on his laptop. Some of the football guys would occasionally come over to hang out, but his room still held the same feeling, hidden temporarily with the presence of another, but the moment they left, the atmosphere returned to the back of Dave's mind. It hung in the air like fog, almost visible to him, like he couldn't really see around his room without seeing it first. It blurred everything else out in its intensity, its obviousness and its conceitedness.

_Lonely_.

This room reminded Dave just how perfectly that word described him. It showcased it, actually, displayed it like it was something to be proud of, something Dave actually wanted to be shown every single day of his life, and it trapped him with that feeling. It held him captive in the one place he was supposed to be able to go to feel safe and loved – his home.

His eyes shifted around his room, finding a textbook on his desk that he'd forgotten to bring to school that day, a pile of dirty laundry on the floor, a stack of movies and video games by the TV, and finally, they rested quite contentedly on Kurt lying on his bed. He wondered if Kurt ever felt the same way, if maybe his emotions were a result of his sexuality. He wondered if Kurt would understand.

He gazed over at him curiously. He lay there motionless, white falling out of him in a way that shouldn't have been erotic, his eyes and face relaxed in his unconsciousness and his limbs huddled together, exactly how Dave had left him. He looked pretty, sleeping on Dave's bed. Pretty and right, as though that was where he was supposed to be.

Dave stepped forward and sat on the bed, admiring the beauty lying there alone. He reached out to touch his face, petting his soft hair, tracing his finger along his cheekbone and down his jaw. He touched the come on the side of his mouth, pinched his bottom lip and rubbing it gently, feeling how smooth it was with the subtle roughness of peeling skin.

Dave moved forward, lying down on his side right up tight to Kurt. He let go of his lip and rested his hand on the side of his face, eyes fixed on its beauty. His thumb swept across his cheek, fingers weaved in his hair.

Kurt squeaked on an inhale.

Dave smiled. "Mouse," he said fondly.

Maybe he'd have to keep him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Dearest Readers,**

**My laptop, Artemis, and I would like to take the time to thank you all kindly for the sweet comments, for they are sweet. A continuation of said sweet comments would be wonderful.**

**Smooches,**

**LaurieRoar**

Kurt's eyes didn't want to open, though his mind was already awake. He could feel the light from the sun shining down on him, and it only made the aching in his head more apparent. His limbs felt tired, his stomach weak and hungry. A dull throbbing pain in his ass continued to catch his attention, reminding him of his night despite his mind's repeated attempts to forget.

He'd been awake for what felt like hours, trapped in his sore body as the sunlight steadily grew lighter and lighter in the room, illuminating the insides of his eyelids. He stared at the orange skin ahead of him, willing himself to be fully awake.

When his eyes finally did flutter half-open, the first thing Kurt saw was Dave's big, chubby chest, a grey T-shirt clinging to it, soggy with sweat. Dave's arms were wrapped around him, pressing Kurt's nose up against him. One hand was gripping Kurt on his thigh, just under his glute, hiking his leg up and holding it over his boxers-adorned hip – navy blue boxers halfway down his furry thighs with black accents and a stretchy wasteband. His chin was resting in Kurt's hair, and by his deep breathing, Kurt could tell he was still fast asleep.

Kurt could smell him. It was a thick, distinct scent, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. In total, it was a scent he'd only smelled on Blaine, the musky, hormone-flooded sex scent of sweat and ejaculation, lingering with emotions like desire and need and even anger. The sweat reminded him of the boys' change room at school before any of them showered. But it also reminded him of his father, especially after a long day working with him at the garage, where the entire shop would smell like tools and vehicle liquids and this underlying aroma on Dave, the sweat. The sweat was mixed with something else as well, something like deoderant that clearly wasn't strong enough. It was a spicy scent, but soft, something that could have smelled good if it wasn't overwhelmed by the other pungent odors. When he inhaled these scents on his father or his boyfriend, he didn't mind them. Sometimes he even liked them. But now, with his face pressed against his rapist's body, the smell registered much different to him. Now, it smelled disgusting, purely rotten, nauseating…

_Oh God…_

Kurt felt the tightness in his stomach. His throat felt wider and the sour-tasting saliva started building in his mouth under his tongue. His abdomen clenched as he inhaled the aftermath of his night. He tried to turn away, but Dave was clutching him there, holding his head against his sweaty chest.

He tried to push away, the new urgent pain in his stomach distracting him from the throbbing everywhere else. He whimpered in his pathetic struggle to move, waking Dave from his deep sleep.

Kurt squeaked, his hand covering his mouth and his face pale and sickly green.

"Mouse?" He said, bleary.

"Gonna – gonna – throw up!"

Dave's arms left Kurt as he stretched a little, his eyes squinted and unfocused. "What?"

With the new slack, Kurt pushed himself up to sit with shaking arms. "Dave!"

He gagged.

"Oh." Dave quickly slipped his arms underneath Kurt's body and lifted him carefully. "Just hold on."

He glanced at the clock. It was almost ten-thirty, which meant his parents would definitely be up, and probably be home. He stood and darted across the room, then he leaned his ear against the door, listening for a warning, but it was silent.

Kurt gagged again.

"Please don't throw up in my room, mouse."

"Then get me out of here!"

Dave opened the door slowly, suddenly very aware of the creaking sound he knew it made. The hallway was empty, but he could hear the TV on in the living room – probably his father. He drew in a deep breath, and turned to the heaving body in his arms. "Kurt?"

"Dave…"

"You have to be really, really quiet, okay?"

"Dave, please…" His arms were covering his face, shielding his eyes from the light that tortured his concussion.

"Promise me that you'll be quiet, mouse."

"Dave!"

"Promise me."

Kurt sobbed. Dave wasn't sure when he'd started crying with his hands over his head. "I p-… promise." His stomach clenched on the last word as he gagged, and the palms of his hands pressed into his mouth to stop it from becoming any more than that.

"Good boy." Dave clutched him closer in his arms, shushing him gently, and stepped out into the hallway. Paranoid, he kept the door to his room open in case he needed to make a mad dash, then set out tiptoeing to the edge of the staircase. He didn't see anybody downstairs, so he stepped down the first step, peaking around the corner nervously.

"D-… Dave." Kurt whimpered.

"Shh, Kurt, mouse, remember?"

Kurt whimpered quietly once, then silenced himself.

Dave stepped slowly, quietly, down the rest of the stairs. His father coughed in the living room. The TV was loud as usual, fortunately, and it would hopefully hide any of the small noises Kurt apparently couldn't contain. Dave huddled him in close to his body and jogged as quietly as he could to the bathroom, letting out a long-held exhale of relief when he closed and locked the door behind him.

He sat Kurt down in front of the toilet and leaned his head over top. "Okay, go ahead, throw up."

A teardrop fell into the toilet, the sound echoing through the walls. Kurt sniffled quietly, his quick inhales shaky.

Dave rubbed circles on his back comfortingly. He leaned in closer to Kurt, resting his chin on his shoulder and whispering in his ear. "Just get it over with, mouse, you'll feel so much better… it's okay… everything's okay…"

Kurt's hands clutched either side of the toilet, his face aimed down with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Tears managed to escape his eyelids, though he tried to stop them, and the sobs made appearances in his breaths regardless of his attempts at calming himself. His stomach hurt as the nausea swelled. The combination of Dave's voice and the vision of the toilet water underneath him finally threw him over the edge. Dave felt his stomach clench and his back arch down as he vomited foamy yellow stomach acid into the toilet – the only thing left in his stomach that hadn't already made its way back up.

"There you go." Dave cooed. "That's good, you're going to feel so much better…"

Dave could feel his stomach clenching over and over again, small amounts of vomit coming out of him through his tears. He knew Kurt didn't have much in his stomach to begin with, but to Hell if it didn't expell what little contents he had kept down since the night before. Even once he'd vomited everything he could and his stomach was dry and empty with nothing more to give, it damn well kept trying. Kurt broke to pieces as he dryheaved. Dave knew from experiences with too much alcohol how much pain he was in from this, but all he could do was rub his back slowly, shushing him gently and thanking God that his parents had had a fan installed that covered up the small sounds Kurt was making.

Finally, after a few moments of silence from Kurt, Dave pulled him back into his arms, kissing his forehead. "Okay?"

Kurt's face was tearstained, and somehow managing to be red, green and grey all at the same time. All of his muscles were relaxed. His breath was shaky, but better now. The taste in his mouth was absolutely disgusting; the kind of taste that made him want to freeze or at least dull his tastebuds, even if it meant never tasting cheesecake in all of its glory every again. The mere act of throwing up, however long-lived and agonizing it had been, had left him completely exhausted, limp in Dave's arms.

"Kurt?" Dave lay a hand on his little chest and, as gently as he could, shook him. "Can you hear me?"

"Don't… don't shake me, Dave." His voice wasn't high-pitched and pleading anymore, not like it had been the night before. He wasn't in panic-mode now. Dave wondered if it was a good sign that he was calming down around him, or if his panic would be reinstilled later on, once he'd regained his strength or remembered his other injuries. The fissure in his rear end lingered in the back of Dave's mind. He knew he'd have to do something about that. Dave lifted Kurt slowly off the ground as he stood, turning him in towards his chest so his head could lean on his shoulder.

He darted back to his room, fearfully glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes a painful number of times, and shut the door as quietly as he could.

Kurt hung limp in his arms, already falling asleep. Dave lay him carefully on his bed, face-down, and straightened out his limbs to keep him more comfortable. He rubbed his back gently, touched the skin on his neck and his soft hair. He felt his deep breathing as he relaxed into sleep.

Dave looked down. There was a small droplet of blood showing through the sweatpants he'd put on Kurt, soaked through the paper towel and his underwear. It wasn't new, in fact it was darkened, like it had dried awhile ago. Had he stopped bleeding?

_Only one way to find out…_

Dave inched down on the bed and slipped his arms under Kurt to untie the drawstring of his sweatpants, then he pulled them down along with his underwear. The paper towel stayed there. Dave gasped a little when he saw it, soaked red with blood. It was a wonder more hadn't shown through his clothes. He gently lifted it off of him. Some blood strung up to the towel an inch from his ass, dark and goopy. It had all smeared around his cheeks and down his thighs, pooling there, some of it dribbling down now. Dave quickly put his already bloody sweatpants under Kurt's body to catch the drips, laying him down gently on top. He wished he would've brought a real towel, maybe a wet one or a washcloth or something to clean him up. He should've waited for the blood to stop before he'd given him a bath.

Dave gently spread Kurt's legs and then pulled his thighs apart to see the damage. He saw the same thing as the night before – a small cut extending a little way down his perineum and disappearing inside of him. It didn't really look that bad. He doubted he'd need stitches or anything like that, doubted they even gave stitches _there_. He grabbed one of his shirts from the floor and covered him up, then left to get something to clean him up. He was just about to step outside when he changed his mind. It would be a lot easier and, in the long run, safer for him to bring Kurt to the bathroom with him. He could lay him down in the tub, and he'd have a direct water source. It would be less likely for him to leave any traces of Kurt's presence behind, such as blood on his comforter…

He heard Kurt make a sleepy noise on his bed. "Mmm…"

Kurt would probably be making more noises. The fan would cover that up. Most importantly, however, was he could lock the door to the bathroom. Yes, the risky walk to the bathroom would definitely be safer than staying in his room.

Dave turned back to Kurt and lifted him carefully, slowly to keep him sleeping. He wrapped his abdomen down to his thighs up with his shirt to contain the blood, tightening it as much as he could with one hand, then went back to the door. He reached the front of the stairs.

The TV was still on, and he could sense his father in there. A few rustling noises clarified his feeling. The door to the living room was still closed, thank God, so Dave silently walked down the stairs and jogged into the bathroom. He closed the door with his foot and cradled Kurt with one arm to lock it, then he stepped forward to set Kurt down in the bath.

Kurt stirred a little. His eyebrows furrowed and his head moved to one side, letting out little high-pitched noises. Dave waited for his face to relax and his breathing to return to its deep, steady rhythm before turning him onto his stomach. He reached back to grab a washcloth from the rest and turned on the tap to wet it. Some of the water splashed onto Kurt's legs, but he stayed asleep, a hand resting idly over his eyes and nose. Dave brought the cloth to his thighs, repeating the same gently bathing process as the night before, only there seemed to be more blood than last time. The cloth was red by the time he was finished with his thighs, and he had to ring it out several times before he could return to clean off the cut itself.

As soon as he touched it, Kurt squeaked and jerked awake. He lifted his head a little of the ground and swallowed, breathing through his mouth, looking around in confusion. He didn't say anything when he realized where he was, just brought his arms slowly under his forehead to lay on them. He let Dave wash him off. Maybe that would make the pain go away, even if it was hurting him more than anything right now.

Kurt's eyes were squeezed shut and his face was contorted in pain by the time Dave finished. When he felt him pull away, a sense of finality in the way he moved, he let out a long breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. All he could think about now was going back to sleep. His head still pounded inside his skull, still merciless and worrysome. He wondered if Dave would so something about that. His rear end felt a little better now without all of the blood sticking to him. But what could he do about his aching head? Over-the-counter pain medication, a glass of water, and nothing else. Then he could go to sleep.

He felt Dave wrapping something warm around him, presumably a towel, and then his big hands gripping around his waist to lift him. Kurt groaned with the movement, his body protesting with resentful throbs of pain as he was settled on the floor with his legs hiked up. He looked down to see what was happening, gripping the towel around him for warmth. Dave was looking between his legs, his face expressionless. Kurt felt something brush against his opening there, sending a shiver of pain through his body. Dave dropped his legs and stood, reaching for something in the medicine cabinet.

There was a knock on the floor. "David?"

Dave froze, his arm reaching out, hand clasping around a small tube. Kurt could see his reflection in the mirror, eyes wide, mouth opened, staring at himself as the blood left his face. He seemed to stay like that for ages, until finally, just before the moment became suspiciously long, he snapped out of it to respond to his father's voice.

"Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing in there?"

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Don't get smart. You've been in there for awhile. I heard the water running. Everything okay?"

"Yep, I'm good. Just … got a nosebleed, so I was cleaning up."

Kurt lay on the ground, completely still, eyes wide. One moment, Dave had been by the sink, the next, without the slightest change in voice, he was leaning over him, hand on his mouth, eyes harsh as he glared at him with a warning, fear-evoking look. Kurt felt tears welling in his eyes just from that look. Why was he looking at him like that?

Everything felt so unclear in Kurt's mind. He felt disoriented, confused, and nothing made sense, like he suddenly didn't understand language. He didn't even fully understand the sight of things. He was thinking about the anxiety in his stomach, and why Dave was making him feel this way, but underneath that was a feeling like he was forgetting something, like there was something he should be doing right then and for some strange reason wasn't.

"A nosebleed? What gave you a nosebleed?"

"I just woke up with one. Dry air or something, I guess, or maybe I did something when I was sleeping."

Kurt barely saw Dave's lips moving, only the determined look in his eyes. Tears slipped down Kurt's cheeks. His mouth hurt where Dave was holding him, and his legs were cold and tired. Everything was tired. Everything hurt. He squeaked. Dave's hand pushed down harder, his eyes turning darker, silently threatening him.

"Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, I'm good. It stopped."

"Okay. Tell me when your out."

"Sure."

Kurt could hear nothing now but the whine of the bathroom fan. Dave slowly let go of his mouth, pulling away and breathing heavily. He leaned back against the wall for awhile, his eyes closed, then he looked down at Kurt.

How was he going to keep him here? How could he keep him here without his parents finding out? Where would he live? He couldn't keep him in his room. It would only be a matter of time when he was discovered in there, and he could easily escape. Unless Dave tied him down, but even if he did, he couldn't tie down his vocal chords. There wasn't anywhere else in the house that he could keep him, not unless they had a hidden soundproof room that his parents didn't know about. No, he couldn't stay here.

What was he going to do, then? Would he have to bring him home? Should he bring him home? Dave knew his concussion didn't disappear overnight. That was still something he'd have to deal with, and even though the fissure on his behind didn't look too bad, he didn't know if there was any damage inside of Kurt. If there was, he'd need medical attention.

Kurt squeaked. Dave was suddenly reminded of his presence. He clutched the tube, some antibacterial cream his dad always made him put on his cuts. Kurt lay there, his eyes half-closed, looking sleepy and confused. His top half was covered in the towel, but his bottom half was naked. Not just naked, but spread out, his long legs bent at the knees with his feet flat on the ground, his crotch more than visible between them. That's how Dave had left him, and he'd just stayed like that, displaying himself in front of Dave shamelessly whether consciously or not.

Suppose Kurt wasn't terribly injured. Suppose he didn't need medical attention, but all he needed was some antibacterial cream and a few hours (or days) of sleep. Suppose he would be able to stay with Dave without his health deteriorating. Where could Dave keep him?

Dave continued his previous work as he pondered this. He sat down between Kurt's spread legs, squeezing some cream on his finger and rubbing it gently over the cut. He smiled a little when Kurt squeaked again from the contact. There was one place he could keep him. Kurt wouldn't be comfortable there, and he'd have to make a few adjustments to make sure Kurt wouldn't escape or get sick, he'd probably have to do something to make sure Kurt didn't scream, but he'd be safe there, at least for now until Dave could find somewhere else to keep him.

He pulled the towel down of Kurt's legs and gathered him in his arms, lifting him up. Kurt groaned again, leaning his head against Dave's chest and closing his eyes. He was so beautiful, so small. Dave found himself clutching him closer, protectively, possessively, dominantly.

_My Kurt._

_ Mine._


	7. Chapter 7

**Dearest Readers,**

**Responding to a reviewer that wanted to know what was going on with Blaine and Kurt's family. Also, I wish I could update this as fast as originally, but I've been ridiculously busy. I'm performing as the female lead in my community's production of "Death By Chocolate" tonight and tomorrow afternoon. Wish me luck!**

**Smooches,**

**The Writer**

**…And Artemis**

**PS: Reviews, reviews, reviews … meaning, I want them … please.**

Blaine held his cellphone in his hand, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. His eyes kept wandering to the time, a flicker of nervousness protruding deep inside of them.

He sat in his car outside of Kurt's house. It was almost eight on Friday night, around the time when he was supposed to be picking him up. Picking him up, bringing him out somewhere nice, finding a safe, secluded place, and then (and he could think it even in his state of worriedness) making sweet, sweet love to him. For a long, long time.

Except, currently, these plans didn't seem to be following through. Kurt hadn't texted him since he'd left him after school, even after their conversation about separation anxiety. Blaine had texted him an embarrassingly large number of times, first just cute, flirty jokes or statements that he thought might make him laugh. When Kurt hadn't responded, he'd started sending him more erotic messages, trying to get him in the mood for the night, but that still hadn't warranted a reply. After supper, Blaine started getting worried. He'd tried calling before he left, but there hadn't been an answer. The only realistic explanation that he could think of was that Kurt had lost or broken his cellphone and couldn't get a hold of him now. It's not like he'd know his number off by heart. So, he'd left, and now he sat outside of Kurt's house.

Then the nervous feeling had come. It was an anxious feeling that grew in the pit of his stomach and expanded around his abdomen, lifting up to his chest almost like panic. It had settled then, and changed, like his body had just realized something without telling his mind.

Dread.

That was the feeling he was swimming in, drowning in. That was the feeling that kept him from getting out of his car and walking to the front door, probably getting welcomed in with open arms by his boyfriend who'd tell him a long, entertaining story about why he couldn't respond to any of his messages.

Or maybe he wouldn't answer… maybe he was angry with him. Had Blaine done something? He thought back to his actions, thought back to his text messages, but nothing stood out as even near offensive. Unless, maybe he felt awkward about the sexting experience. No, that couldn't be, it wasn't like that was the first time they'd talked dirty.

_You're overthinking this._

Blaine forced himself to get out of his car, slipping his cellphone into his pocket. Why was he sitting there thinking up explanations on his own when he could just walk up to Kurt's house and figure out the truth? That was far easier, and far less nerve-wracking.

Though his brain thought this to be logical, his stomach told him otherwise. The feeling of anxiety and dread still lingered in his gut, and it only got worse as he made his way to the front door. Every step on the sidewalk felt heavier than usual, smaller and more intense, like time had slowed. When he finally did reach the door, his knock felt too loud, too rough, unfamiliar, like somebody else had done it. He felt odd. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the feeling spreading in his stomach.

Kurt's father answered. He didn't look upset or worried (of course he wouldn't, why would he?), but when his eyes fell on Blaine, a look of confusion spread across his face.

"Blaine?" He said it like it was a denial.

"Hi, Burt. Is Kurt here?"

Burt furrowed his eyebrows. "No. Finn said he was with you."

Blaine lifted an eyebrow and shook his head. "No… he went to the library after school, but he was supposed to come home after that."

The thoughts were almost visible racing through Burt's eyes. "He was supposed to come home? When?"

"I'm guessing for supper." The feeling of dread was rising in Blaine's body, floating up from his stomach and into his chest. His breathing changed as he felt the panic start. "He didn't come home?"

Burt seemed to sense Blaine's nervousness. "No."

The color left both of their faces. Blaine swallowed, glancing back behind him as if he thought Kurt would be walking down the sidewalk to ease their worrying. He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of his phone in his pocket. "Kurt hasn't texted me since after school."

Burt was standing there, frozen. "He hasn't texted me back either." He stayed unmoving for what seemed like hours until finally, with a flash in his eyes like a light had suddenly been turned on in his brain, he dropped back to reality. "Come inside." He said.

As Blaine walked in, closing the door behind him, Burt pulled his own cellphone out of his pocket, pressing a few buttons and then bringing it to his ear. "Finn!" He called up the stairs.

Blaine heard Finn answer, his voice muffled behind a door. "Yeah?"

"Come here." Burt's voice was strong and firm, but the nervousness still shined through it.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and then Finn appeared at the top of the stairs. He walked down slowly, looking confused when he saw Blaine standing there.

"You okay, man? You look like you're going to be sick."

"Kurt's not with me."

"What?"

"He never was. We don't know where he is."

Finn's expression changed. "What?"

Burt cleared his throat. Finn and Blaine both turned to him, their faces pleading, hoping he, as the adult, would have an answer for them. They looked lost, worried, showing their innocence. The phone rang in Burt's ear as they watched him, and he just listened to his heart pounding faster and harder in his chest as his son refused to answer his cellphone. He let it ring, every monotone note droning in his ear deepening the worry that spread through his body.

"Come on, pick up…" He whispered to himself. "Come on, kid…"

"Burt?"

Burt turned to his son's boyfriend. Blaine hadn't meant the word to come out that way, so desperate, so pleading, like a little boy's whimper, but it shot Burt straight into father mode. "It's okay." He said, steadying his voice as much as he could. "I'm sure he's okay."

Blaine's breath shook as he inhaled. His phone sat heavily in his pocket.

Burt put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't panic yet, kid. I'm sure he's fine."

Blaine nodded, but clearly wasn't convinced. Burt's clammy hand slipped weakly off of him and then hung limply at his side. It clenched and unclenched as he waited on his cellphone.

"I've been trying to get a hold of him all afternoon," Blaine said. "He's not going to answer."

Burt nodded, but he stayed on the line, listening to the dull ring a few more times before finally giving into it and snapping his useless cellphone shut. "What time is it?" He asked the question as he was opening his cellphone once more to check it himself.

Blaine beat him to it. "Quarter after eight."

Burt exhaled. "Okay." He nodded. "Okay. Well," he paused, thinking, running a hand over his face nervously. "Let's not get worked up yet."

Finn spoke up, the least nervous of all. "Yeah, he's probably fine. He probably turned his phone off or something."

"Why would he turn his phone off?" Blaine asked. The feeling of dread was only continuing to deepen as he watched the anxiety grow in Burt's eyes.

Burt replied quickly. "He'd only turn it off if something was wrong. Did something happen at school?"

"No. Not that I know of." Blaine said, shaking his head. "And he would've told me; he always tells me."

Finn took out his phone now. "I'll text the glee club. Maybe he's with one of them." He sent a mass text to nearly all of his contacts as Burt left the room to call Carole.

"He's probably fine, Blaine, stop looking so horrified."

"I know…"

"Seriously." Finn looked down at his phone when it vibrated. The messages came quickly. Nobody knew where he was.

"Well?"

"Nobody knows where he is."

Burt re-entered the room then, hearing the last line. "None of the glee kids?"

"No."

"Is there anybody else?"

Finn and Blaine both looked at each other nervously.

"I'm… uh…" Burt stood in the middle of the room, staring idly at the ground, thoughts racing through his head. Finally, nodding to himself, he turned to the door, grabbing his jacket that hung beside it and pulling his keys out of its pocket. "I'm going to go look for him. Come with me, Blaine. Finn, stay here in case he shows up."

Both boys nodded obediently, and Blaine followed Burt out the door. As an afterthought, Burt shouted back to Finn, "Hey, call me if he comes home, right?"

"Yeah, I will."

Blaine sat huddled in the passenger's seat as they searched for his boyfriend, his dread and worry only increasing as they continued to come up empty handed. The library was closed. The Lima Bean was empty. The school was locked and deserted.

Burt's anxiety grew as they drove to the cemetery. He texted Finn constantly, asking him if Kurt was there yet, asking him to search the house, and groaning in exasperation when Finn couldn't find anything. They pulled away from the cemetery with a newfound fear, the barrenness of Kurt's mother's grave unnerving.

They drove along Kurt's usual path to the school, home, everywhere. They got out of the car and walked, both of them nervously looking down alleyways, hoping yet not hoping to find him.

"What if… what if something happened?" Blaine's eyes were big, staring at Burt. Burt thought he should tell him that his age was showing, the innocence and the naivety prevalent in the childish way he clung to him emotionally.

Burt felt the color drain away from his face with the utter of those words, if there had been any color left. He took a deep breath, glancing around the street. They were halfway between the cemetery and home, and it was literally deserted outside, and cold, unnaturally cold, though it may have just been the anxiety that made it feel colder.

"Burt?"

Burt cleared his throat. "I'm sure he's okay." He lied. "He's probably…" But he couldn't think of any other explanation, not for his son, not for Kurt, who knew how much his father worried about him.

"Burt…" Blaine wasn't having any of it. "We… should call the police."

Burt nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

The two of them returned home, both of their bodies clearly displaying their nerves and worry through their tension and their constant discomfort. They shifted around in their seats, completely silent as they pretended to listen to the radio. Both of them looked out the windows as if they thought they might see Kurt walking down the street, or maybe a memory would pop into their mind that would grant them the luxury of finding him.

Blaine stayed a long time at the Hummel-Hudson house, sitting silently in the living room with his boyfriend's family. Burt phoned the police, but they weren't much help. Kurt hadn't been missing long enough for them to take it seriously, apparently, as if there was a time limit on these things. Somebody could've already hurt him, killed him even – but Blaine didn't want to think about that.

His mom called him eventually, telling him to come home. He told her what was going on. She was sympathetic, but told him not to worry about it unless he had to. He went home and cried on her shoulder, long descriptions of worse case scenarios pouring out of his mouth almost involuntarily. After he'd calmed down, she forced him to go to sleep.

/

/

/

Kurt opened his eyes.

He wished he hadn't.

The light burst through him like an explosion, setting fire to his brain and littering sparks of agony throughout his body. His hands flew up to shield himself from it, a fingernail scratching his cheek in the process with a pain unnoticeable in comparison to his head. He shivered and whimpered, trying to regain his composure through the aching.

He felt a hand brush over his hair. "Daddy…" He begged, pleading the forces of the world to allow him such a luxury.

"Shh…"

"Daddy…" He couldn't even force himself to say the shortened version of the word. Dad. It didn't reflect his emotions, the pleading, and the desperation in him. The lengthened word let him release some of his misery, let him hold onto the image of his father that would flash through his mind when the syllables left his mouth.

"It's okay, mouse…"

"I'm not a… mouse." He mumbled, clutching his head further into his hands.

Dave had snuck Kurt out of the house while he father was in the living room. He'd lifted him up off the floor of the bathroom, carried him into the kitchen, an act so easy it made him anxious. He'd called to his dad, said he was out of the bathroom and was going over to a friend's house. His father had grunted a reply from the other room. Dave hadn't wasted any time – he'd clutched Kurt closer in his arms and stole into the garage, trying to keep him quiet and calm. His head was leaning against his chest, or rather just collapsed there, his eyes sometimes closed and sometimes open. His mouth hung and his breath came out of it deeply.

When Dave had set him down in the backseat of his car, he thought Kurt would be good and stay calm, just lye there while he drove. He sat down in the driver's seat, turned the key in the ignition, but then –

_Wait…_

_ Shit!_

He'd left Kurt's cellphone on the table of his living room. What if his dad found it? It probably had a thousand text messages from Kurt's father and his friends and that other idiot who apparently cared about him. Even if the chances of his father looking through the phone were slim, he couldn't risk it. He got out of his car, groaning in exasperation and nervousness, and walked back inside.

His father was still on the couch. He stood outside the door to the living room, his ear pressed against it. It sounded like he was watching a sports game, though Dave didn't care enough to tell which one. If it was in the morning, it was probably something boring. He took a deep breath, lies and excuses running fiercely through his head, and opened the door.

His father turned around, looking a little confused. "David? I thought you were leaving?"

Dave spotted the cellphone on the table exactly where he'd left it. "I am. I just… I forgot this."

"That's not yours, is it?"

"No, it's not mine, it's… it's my friend's… from the football team. I'm just going to drop it off."

"When did he leave it here?"

"He came over last night. Just for a little bit… we had to…" No, Dave, don't say "study", that would be a dead giveaway. "We were just hanging out."

"Oh." His father turned back to the TV. He was watching golf. "What time are you coming home?"

Dave was inching towards the door. "Erm… probably… for supper?"

His father glanced back at him. "That late?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?" Dave's foot was in the kitchen, his hand on the doorknob, ready to close the door and make a break for it.

"Sure."

"Okay. I'll see you later, then."

"Have fun."

Dave closed the door a little too quickly, turned and jogged to the garage. He nearly dove into the driver's seat, buckling his seatbelt absentmindedly and starting his car. He glanced in his rearview mirror, expecting to see Kurt lying there unconscious.

_Shit…_

He wasn't there.

Dave unbuckled his seatbelt and got out, the fury already beginning to surface in his blood. He slammed the door behind him. "Kurt?" He tried, eyes darting around the garage, growing annoyed when he didn't spot him. "Kurt, come on."

He knew Kurt was in the garage. He wouldn't have been able to get far – he couldn't even stand on his own, not with his injuries. He was hiding somewhere in there. All Dave had to do was find him.

But Dave was impatient. "Kurt. I know you're in here. You couldn't have gotten out of here already."

He spotted a few drops of blood beside his car door. Smiling, he followed the droplets around to the other side of the car, watching them disappear under a table. He ducked down. Kurt sat there, hiding, his arms wrapped around his legs and his big, dazed eyes staring at Dave.

"Come on, Kurt. You must be hurting."

Kurt started crying right away. "Dave…"

"You must be in so much pain right now, Kurt… come here… I'll carry you." He stretched out his arms as an offer.

Kurt whimpered and shied away.

"Come on…" Dave grew more impatient. He reached for Kurt, gripping him around his little waist and pulling him out. Kurt gasped and struggled, pushing at Dave as he dragged him towards the car.

"It's okay, Kurt!"

Kurt screamed. "No!"

Dave groaned loudly. These little panic attacks were getting annoying. He leaned down to cover Kurt's mouth so his father wouldn't hear him, shushing him violently. Kurt cried and struggled, kicking his legs and twisting his body, sobbing and screaming through Dave's clutching hand.

"Kurt, shut up!"

Kurt ripped his face away from Dave, twisting around with his stomach on the cement floor of the garage. Dave sat on top of him, his knee digging into Kurt's back.

Kurt screamed again and the sound echoed through the garage. "Help!"

Dave groaned again, the nerves starting up. He pushed his shoulders down to hold him in place. "Shut the fuck up!" He waited, listening over Kurt's grunting and sobbing, but it looked like he was lucky enough that his father hadn't heard him.

That wouldn't last long though. And he couldn't have Kurt screaming and crying in the backseat of his car.

"Let – me – go – get – off – let – me - !"

He didn't finish his plea. He gasped instead. Dave had grabbed his hair and pulled him back, leaning down with his face an inch away.

"Listen to me." He growled.

Kurt breathed noisily, the blue irises of his eyes looking over at Dave, shining with tears. "D-… Dave…" He whispered. "Please."

"Kurt." Dave grunted sharply.

Kurt closed his mouth, a tear sliding down his cheek.

"If you don't shut up and stay still, I'm going to have to knock you out again."

Kurt bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"That's going to make your head hurt more."

He inhaled shakily, crying freely.

"Do you want me to do that?"

"N-no!"

"Are you going to be good, then?"

"Ye-… Yes…"

"Okay." Dave let go of his hair, slipping his arms underneath Kurt's body and lifting him up carefully. A red spot was growing between his legs. Dave angrily glanced back at the droplets of blood, but figured it was nothing some Coca-Cola couldn't get out. He'd have to deal with it later, though.

Dave carefully set Kurt down in the backseat again, wiping the tears off of his face carefully. He'd left the blanket there, and he wrapped him in it tightly. He spotted his letterman jacket on the floor, and he grabbed it, scrunching it into a ball and propping Kurt's head up on it.

"Okay, Kurt?"

"Okay."

Dave brushed the hair out of Kurt's eyes, giving him a warning look before returning to the driver's seat.

/

/

/

Dave held Kurt's phone in his hand. There were several missed calls, about a million text messages, mostly from his clingy boyfriend.

Blaine (4:10PM) I miss youuuu!

Blaine (4:12PM) Are you studying? Am I disturbing you?

Blaine (4:15PM) Okay, I'll leave you alone…

Blaine (4:19PM) I can't do it. Text meee‼

Blaine (4:26PM) Kurt…

Dad (4:27PM) Hey buddy I'm coming home tonight Carole's staying here tho.

Blaine (4:29PM) Kuuuuuurrrt…. :(

Blaine (4:48PM) Are you excited for tonight?

Blaine (4:50PM) I'm very, very excited… Very excited…

Good God. He just kept going on like that, too, blabbing random, useless bullshit about how excited he was to fuck him, like Kurt was supposed to be excited and happy about it. There were other texts too, from some of Kurt's annoying glee friends, but mostly just from _him_.

Blaine (7:00PM) Are we still on for tonight…?

Blaine (7:30PM) Kurt

Blaine (7:32PM) K, I'm coming

Blaine (7:45PM) Im txting and driving don't b mad but come oooonn‼!

Blaine (8:01PM) Outside your house…

_Creep_.

Blaine (8:15PM) Where are you?

His next messages didn't come until the morning.

Blaine (7:46AM) Still don't know where you are…

Blaine (7:59AM) Everyone is so worried about you. Please answer if you're getting these…

Blaine (8:02AM) Please be okay, Kurt. I love you so much.

Dave shuddered and got out of his car.

/

/

/

Kurt held his head in agony. He felt Dave's hand trailing down over his cheek onto his neck, down cupping his shoulder, clutching his ribcage, squeezing his waist. His hand relaxed when it reached his hip, sliding up over his back and down into his pants. Kurt felt his ass being massaged.

"Finally awake, baby… I've been waiting…"

Kurt whimpered. Dave's deep voice echoed through his pounding head, amplified by Kurt's injury. Dave squeezed his ass roughly, probably leaving bruises but not caring. His fingers inched their way between his cheeks, trailing over the space between them. Kurt jumped when they found the opening there, a sharp pain shooting up his spine and down his legs when they brushed against his fissure.

He felt Dave's hot breath on him, his body being pulled in towards Dave's chest. The same smell from that morning filled his nostrils, the sweat and the cologne… cars… the garage… "Nng. Daddy."

Dave's finger was massaging circles around his entrance now. Kurt felt the fissure spreading and the pain greatening as he grew more tense there. Dave ignored his reluctance, moving his finger around, feeling and loving the smallness of him, the tightness. "So tight…" He whispered, his breath becoming more rapid.

The tears came now as Kurt began to predict his fate. "D-Dave, p-please, no..."

"Shh…" Dave's finger pushed against him. Kurt could feel the other three around it, spreading him apart painfully. He felt Dave's finger entering him slowly, heard Dave's moan when he felt his internal heat. "Fuck. So tight."

A tear slid down Kurt's cheek, hidden from Dave's sight by his arms clutching his head. He whimpered with the pain. Dave's nails were long, his finger too big, Kurt's entrance too sore and hurt from the night before.

Dave pushed his finger in further, feeling Kurt spreading, however reluctant, for him as he entered his body. He pushed it in as deep as he could, ignoring the sobs that escaped his beautiful Kurt. He pulled his finger back, feeling Kurt's warmth and wetness, the blood starting up between his legs but the perfect tightness keeping him there. He thrust his finger in and out of him, treasuring his beauty.

Kurt's sobs were growing frantic with the pain. He gasped for air between each begging word. "Dave – please – stop – please – Dave - !"

Dave just whispered in his ear, gently, trying to keep him as calm and as still as possible as he felt his erection growing in his pants. "It's okay, baby… you're okay… you're so beautiful…" He used his other hand to pull Kurt's arms away from his mouth and leaned forward to kiss him. Kurt jumped back, but Dave held him there, sucking on his bottom lip as his finger moved inside of him.

"No!" Kurt yanked his head back.

"Be good, baby." Dave pulled him forward.

Kurt felt Dave's finger leave his body and his hand return to his ass, massaging and feeling him for a few more moments before pulling it free of his pants. He rolled Kurt onto his back and lay down heavily on top of him, his weight nearly knocking the breath out of Kurt's smaller frame. He held Kurt's head in place with a hand on his forehead and kissed him eagerly. His tongue pushed through his lips as Kurt breathed heavily through his nose, the little shoots of air hitting Dave's face in a way that was somehow erotic.

Dave kept him like that, kissing him and touching him, thinking wondrously that he could do this forever. Then he heard Kurt's stomach growling.

_Poor thing…_

He was probably starving. He didn't know when he'd eaten last. Dave had gotten up in the middle of the night and eaten the half-made sandwich he'd left on the counter, so he wasn't quite so far gone, but he hadn't fed Kurt, and he'd thrown up everything in his stomach…

Dave got off of him. He stood up beside the mattress, sprawled out in the middle of the floor. He looked around the room.

His father's storage shed. It looked pretty much like a garage – it was, really, just built in a line-up of a hundred other garages, all rented by different people. His father didn't put too much in it, mostly just the furniture he'd inherited from his deceased mother and hadn't had room for in the house. He had the mattress in there. The bed frame wasn't set up, and Dave hadn't felt like putting it together, so he didn't. He had just carried Kurt out of his car as discreetly as he could and collapsed with him on the mattress, holding him and cuddling him until his eyes had started to flicker open.

He figured it would do. He'd have to find a way to keep him warm, but he figured he'd be safe here at least.

Kurt lay there on his back, his eyes closed and his lips swollen from the kissing. He looked pretty, as usual, a sleeping angel. The dirty mattress didn't look worthy of his pale skin, his pink cheeks, his skinny little body. Dave leaned down over him, containing his renewed arousal. "I'm going to go get you something to eat, okay?"

Kurt paused, clearly having to force himself to respond. "Okay." His voice, although strained, sounded hopeful. The hunger was hurting him.

"Stay here, just like that, right?"

"Right."

Dave kissed his cheek and turned to leave.

/

/

/

Blaine had awoke early in the morning and called Burt, though he knew if Kurt had come home somebody would've contacted him. Burt said he was going over to the police station, and that he'd call him if anything happened. Blaine had reluctantly hung up, clutching his phone desperately. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing as the situation sunk in, so he just let them pour down his face. He stayed there for a long time.

He flipped open his phone, the dread still pooling there in the pit of his stomach.

/

/

/

Dave opened the message from Blaine as he got into his car, locking the door to the storage shed behind him.

Blaine (11:03AM) Please let him go.


	8. Chapter 8

Blaine (11:03AM) Please let him go.

_He knows!_

Dave clutched the steering wheel.

_I have no idea how, but he knows!_

He put his car in reverse and backed up to the road, setting the phone down in the passenger's seat. He mentally tried to deny the power that message had over him, the power any of the curly-haired imp's messages had over him. He shouldn't care. He had Kurt now, hidden away where that idiot couldn't touch him.

_Does he know it's me?_

Dave put the car in drive and set off for a gas station.

But… the phrasing of the sentence.

Blaine (11:03AM) Please let him go.

_Let him go_.

It brought the reality of Dave's situation closer to home. Dave was holding Kurt against his will. He'd kidnapped him. Abducted him. And, so far, he wasn't even taking very good care of him. He was denying Kurt the medical attention that he probably needed. He hadn't fed him yet. God, and he was probably ready to piss his pants, if he hadn't already. And now he was keeping him in his father's storage shed, a small, dingy, smelly room without heating that Dave probably wouldn't be able to access everyday.

_Let him go._

Dave pulled into the gas station and parked along the side, regaining his composure and trying to refrain from looking suspicious, hopefully succeeding. He listened to the beep-beep of his car being locked as he entered the store.

There was one older man working at the till, sitting there reading a magazine he probably stole off the shelf behind him. He glanced up at Dave when he entered but didn't say anything, instead just going back to his magazine like nothing had changed.

Dave walked around the store aimlessly. He had no idea what to get – what did Kurt eat? Probably something gay. Maybe he'd go for the pink Rockstar energy drinks with the straws, or the sour cherry balls. He shouldn't get him candy, though. He wouldn't want that. He'd want something more filling than that. He turned to the microwavable food, the sandwiches and the burgers and the like. They had a few packages that looked healthy, so he grabbed one of those. He looked around, noticing a microwave by the cappiccino-makers, and threw it in.

"You gonna pay for that?"

Dave sighed, walked up to the cashier and nearly threw the money at him, then looked around some more. He felt like he should get Kurt something else. A present. Something to entertain him or make him smile.

The microwave beeped. Dave grabbed a bottle of orange juice from a fridge, a big bag of chips and the sour cherry balls. He laid them on the counter in front of the cashier and, last minute, told him to throw in the Vogue magazine on the shelf behind him.

Dave left carrying a grocery bag in one hand and the microwaved, near-healthy packaged meal in his other with a plastic fork sticking out the side. He set everything down beside Kurt's phone as he got into the driver's seat of his car, feeling as though his nerves should be acting up but somehow feeling fine. He started the car and was about to drive away when he noticed a light flashing on Kurt's phone.

Another message.

_From Blaine?_

Dave felt a shudder of annoyance roll through his body. He picked up the phone hastily, feeling the urge to text Blaine back pretending to be Kurt. He could tell him that he'd up and left because he hated his life with him. Or he could break up with him somehow, say he was going to New York to become a star or something. Dave could break his heart if he wanted to.

Of course, if he really wanted to hurt Blaine, he knew what he could do. He had Kurt on a mattress in his dad's storage shed. It wouldn't be hard to take off his clothes and take a picture of his bleeding ass.

He opened the message, fun responses flying through his mind. But it wasn't from Blaine. It was from one of Kurt's other glee friends, Mercedes, just another concerned message. Did any of these people get that Kurt didn't have his phone? Or were they just going to keep texting him as though he'd suddenly, miraculously decide to respond, and tell them some hilarious story about why he'd been missing since school the day before, putting all of their worries at rest?

_Idiots._

Dave held the phone, looking through it, skimming through his applications, his notes, his photos…

_He doesn't know its me. He can't._

_ Suppose he did…_

Dave had to be honest with himself. He hadn't planned this out, not even a little. He'd been too busy thinking about his goddamn cock and Kurt's pretty skin and high voice. He had planned out how he was going to get Kurt, how he'd take him home, and he'd been planning the sex out in detail since he first laid eyes on him. He'd even planned to drop Kurt off at home. What hadn't even gone through his mind, however, was what would happen to him. How stupid was he? He seriously thought he could kidnap and rape someone without any consequences?

_Fuck._

Now, Kurt's father would undoubtedly call the cops, and he'd probably have a search and rescue team out looking for him 24/7 until they found him.

_And if they found him?_

Dave had a horrifying image of police officers with guns and loud, booming voices bursting into the storage shed, probably ripping Dave off of Kurt's little body, handcuffing him and throwing him into the backseat of a squad car. He could imagine the trials, the conviction… probably spending the rest of his life in a prison cell.

And Kurt. Kurt would be ushered to a hospital in an ambulance. He'd tearfully tell everyone what happened, he'd sob on his father's shoulder. Each tear that slid down his cheek would make Burt angrier. And he was the type of man that would want revenge, even if it meant getting thrown in jail for assault. Dave would definitely get a visit from that man, that man and probably Kurt's other loyal bodyguards as well. Finn. Puck.

_Him._

Dave pulled up to the storage shed and put the car in park. He grabbed Kurt's cellphone and Dave skimmed through messages from Blaine, dated back to Monday. That hairy runt, the midget dwarf from Hogwarts, the horny pervert that Kurt let inside of him. He wouldn't be able to do much, but he would sure as hell try.

He was about to ask himself why he was searching through Kurt's phone when something caught his eye. A text message folder Kurt had entitled "Steam". Curious, Dave opened it. His stomach sunk.

_Sexts._

_ From Blaine._

Me (9:48 PM) Blaine

Blaine (9:50 PM) Yes, love?

Me (9:50 PM) Blaine

Blaine (9:51 PM) …Yes, love?

Me (9:52 PM) Are you budy?

Me (9:52PM) *busy

Blaine (9:52 PM) Nope ?

Me (9:53 PM) Want to come over?

Blaine (9:53 PM) Can't :( my parents have both vehicles. You okay, beautiful?

Me (9:55 PM) No

Blaine (9:55 PM) What's wrong?

Me (9:56 PM) I need you

Me (9:56 PM) Inside of me

Blaine (9:57 PM) Too hot, Kurt Hummel!

Blaine (9:57 PM) Now masturbate, dearest.

Me (9:58 PM) I am

Blaine (9:58 PM) I'm gonna get you a dildo.

Blaine (9:59 PM) Wait… seriously?

Me (9:59 PM) Please do.

Me (10:00 PM) Yes, I am.

Blaine (10:00 PM) Right now?

Me (10:00 PM) Yes

Blaine (10:01 PM) What… what are you doing? ;)

Me (10:01 PM) Touching myself

Blaine (10:02 PM) Where?

Me (10:02 PM) My penis

Me (10:02 PM) And my nipples

Blaine (10:03 PM) Your nipples? Really?

Blaine (10:03 PM) That's… really hot.

Me (10:05PM) Blaine

Blaine (10:06 PM) Yes?

Me (10:07 PM) Are you touching yourself?

Blaine (10:10 PM) I am now

Blaine (10:11PM) What are you thinking about?

Me (10:11PM) You

Me (10:11PM) Touching me

Blaine (10:12 PM) Where

Me (10:13 PM) My thighs and my ass

Blaine (10:14PM) Fuck I wish I was

Me (10:15PM) Blaine

Me (10:16PM) I want you inside of me

Blaine (10:17PM) finger yourself

Me (10:18PM) Blaine

Blaine (10:18PM) Pretend its me

Blaine (10:22PM) Are you doing it?

Me (10:23PM) Yes

Blaine (10:24PM) How many?

Me (10:25PM) One

Blaine (10:25PM) How does it feel?

Me (10:26PM) I want you

Blaine (10:26PM) Do more

Blaine (10:26PM) Pretend its me

Me (10:28PM) Two

Blaine (10:28PM) More

Me (10:30PM) It hurts :(

Blaine (10:31PM) Wait until it feels good

Blaine (10:32PM) Only if it feels good

Me (10:32PM) It feels so good so good when you do it

Me (10:33PM) Three

Blaine (10:37PM) Fk I love you

Me (10:40PM) Wish u were here

Blaine (10:41PM) God me too

Blaine (10:41PM) I wish I was in you right now

Blaine (10:42PM) You have no idea

Blaine (10:43PM) I'd fuck you so hard so fucking hard and so deep in you

Blaine (10:44PM) You're so hot

Blaine (10:44PM) And little and tight

Me (10:45PM) Blaine

Blaine (10:45 PM) Fk I wish I could hear u

Me (10:46PM) Blaine

Blaine (10:47PM) Kurt I love you so much

Blaine (10:48PM) You're so perfect everything about you

Blaine (10:48PM) You're the most beautiful thing

Me (10:50PM) I want to suck on you right now

Blaine (10:52PM) Fk call me

Me (10:53PM) Cant dads in other room

Blaine (10:55PM) Fk I want to hear you moan

Blaine (10:56PM) I want you on your knees spread out and open for me

Blaine (10:57PM) With your back arching up for me

Blaine (10:58PM) Moaning loud every time I push into you

Me (11:00PM) Four

Blaine (11:01PM) What

Me (11:02PM) Four fingers

Blaine (11:03PM) Omg

Blaine (11:03PM) This is lasting so long

Me (11:04PM) Nowhere near how you feel you're so much bigger

Blaine (11:04PM) I know

Blaine (11:05PM) I'm too big for you

Me (11:06PM) No you're perfect

Me (11:07PM) I love you too Blaine

Me (11:09PM) You're everything

Me (11:10PM) I'm close really close

Blaine (11:11PM) I wish I was on top of you

Me (11:12PM) Fk

Me (11:14PM) Blaine

Me (11:20PM) …Came.

Blaine (11:30PM) Sorry me too had to clean up

Blaine (11:31PM) Good?

Me (11:31PM) I feel better :)

Blaine (11:32PM) :D

Blaine (11:33PM) So… Have you done that before?

Me (11:34PM) ?

Blaine (11:36PM) Like… fingered yourself?

Me (11:37PM) No.

Blaine (11:37PM) I'm the only thing that's been in you

Me (11:38PM) Besides me now

Blaine (11:39PM) Besides you

Me (11:41PM) …Do you like that?

Blaine (11:45PM) Yes 3 You're mine! All mine!

Blaine (11:59PM) …Too possessive?

Me (12:01PM) No :)

Me (12:03PM) It's true. I'm all yours, Blaine 3

Me (12:04PM) All yours ;)

_All yours._

Dave exhaled heavily, thoughts speeding through his mind. He grabbed his stuff from the passenger's seat, slipping the cellphone into his pocket, and made his way to Kurt, slowly.

Kurt was lying on the mattress, right where he left him, only now his eyes were closed and his legs were huddled up to his chest. An arm was draped over his head protectively. He was asleep, or judging from his uneven breathing, pretending to be. As soon as he smelled the food in Dave's hand however his eyes opened and his head lifted slightly. It tugged at Dave's heart a little. He was hungry.

_All yours._

"Here," Dave said, sitting down behind Kurt's little frame and helping him up. He wrapped an arm around his chest, letting him lean against him, and then handed him the food. "Hungry?"

Kurt held it wearily, looking down at it. The smell filled the storage shed quickly, rising up Kurt's nose and making his mouth water. He hadn't eaten since lunch the day before, but his stomach felt weak, either from hunger or his injuries.

Dave stroked his torso absentmindedly. "Eat, mouse."

"I'm not a mouse." Kurt grunted quietly, but lifted the fork to his mouth.

"You sound like a mouse." Dave cooed. His hand ran down over his chest and onto his stomach, back up to his chest and over his diaphragm. His thumb hooked his nipple; his index finger dipped into his naval.

_Blaine._

_ I want you inside of me._

Dave looked down at the angel, this perfect angel that sat lightly in his arms. He watched his pretty mouth as he ate, heard him chewing and felt the stillness of his muscles when he swallowed. He felt so small, so weak and helpless.

_Let him go._

Dave stroked his body carefully. He supposed Blaine was right. He should let him go. That had been the plan, if he'd had a plan. He was even going to drive him home, but something had stopped him – his beauty, his perfection, and now something else.

Perhaps it should have been the concept of getting caught, of being thrown into jail and being forever hated by everyone closest to Kurt and even Kurt himself. Honestly, however, the main thought going through Dave's head was what would happen specifically to Kurt if he brought him home.

He wouldn't just be returning Kurt, he'd be allowing him his old life. He would be handing him back to _him_. He would be dropping him right back into his tiny, tanned and ridiculously toned arms.

_All yours._

Then Dave felt a vibrating in his pocket. He took out Kurt's cellphone, still watching his angel out of the corner of his eye –

/

/

/

Kurt lay there, recoiling with shaking limbs. Blood ran down his neck and over his shoulders, dripping into tiny pools beside his head. His back was a map of growing bruises and lacerations that stood out over his pale skin. His hair was matted with blood, the only parts of his face visible around his trembling arm that he hid behind were red and dripping with tears. He'd lost all words, and now just lay there literally sobbing as he near hysterically gasped for breath.

Dave stood in front of him, his hands clutched in fists smeared with Kurt's blood. The breath moved through his lungs like high winds as he looked down at what he'd done.

But… what had he done?

The remains of the food he'd gotten Kurt lay scattered on the cement floor. The bottle of orange juice was broken and covered in blood, its contents soaking into the Vogue magazine and Kurt's clothing. The lid had a few brown hairs stuck to it with dried, goopy blood holding them there. The cellphone lay abandoned on the mattress across the room, Dave's path easy to track with the trail of red between them.

_I blacked out_.

The unexplained anger began to deflate. Dave looked down at the bleeding child on the floor, shivering, whose sobs echoed through the room in a way that made his heart sink.

"Kurt?"

Kurt froze, his movements stiffening and his sounds muting. When nothing happened after a few moments, he let out a shaky breath and started crying again, hugging his limbs in tight around his chest. His ass was bleeding again. Blood was dripping down to his socks, running in lines down his arms and over his wrists, pooling around him, a horrific dark red stain.

He still had to take care of the blood in his garage…

Dave tried to breathe. He debated trying to comfort Kurt, maybe apologize or something. Kurt could tell him what happened, what he'd done. Except he knew what he'd done. The evidence was right in front of him, recoiling as his insides externalized. No, that would only make him worse. Touching him would make it worse, looking at him, just being in the same room with him was scaring him, he could tell. Dave was scaring him.

He jogged to the mattress behind him and picked up Kurt's cellphone hastily, then carefully avoided Kurt as he made his way to the door. He figured he should say something. Maybe the sinking feeling in his stomach would leave if he apologized.

_No._

"I'll be back, Kurt, okay?"

Dave didn't stay long enough to see Kurt tense again. He got into his car and slammed the door shut, gripping the steering wheel with the blood abandoning his face.

_Blood._

What in the hell had possessed him to do that? What had he been doing?

_Feeding Kurt…_

His angel, laying in his arms as he ate hungrily.

_Let him go._

He'd been thinking about Kurt's boyfriend.

_All yours._

Then Kurt's phone had vibrated in his pocket.

Dave took the phone out carefully, nervously. He looked at it, wondering if what he was about to see would cause another… reaction. Would he hurt Kurt again? No, he couldn't, Kurt was already hurt enough. He'd done enough.

_I'm the only thing that's been inside of you._

_ I'm all yours, Blaine._

Dave brought up Kurt's messages, his eyes falling on the most recent one. It was from Blaine, Kurt's little pocket-sized boyfriend. Dave soaked in the message, forcing himself to compress the emotion that came with it. He couldn't make Kurt pay for this again. It wasn't Kurt's fault his boyfriend was an idiot, a stupid, possessive, perverted, horny idiot.

_Idiot!_

Blaine (1:04PM) He's mine.

_He's mine._

_He's mine._

_He's MINE._

That bastard. He was just rubbing it in, now. He knew. He knew it was Dave that had Kurt, he knew everything that he'd done to him, everything that he'd wanted to do to him since the day he'd laid eyes on him in his tight designer jeans. He knew what went through Dave's mind when he thought of his hobbit hands touching Kurt's beautiful angel skin, when he thought of his miniature cock sinking inside of him and making him moan as if it actually felt good. He knew that, all of it.

But there was one thing he didn't know. He didn't know what happened when his messages reached Dave. He didn't know how Kurt suffered as a result. Well, Dave would change that. Dave would show him exactly what his idiocy did.

Dave flung open the car door and left it there as he walked back to the storage shed. He suddenly felt twice as heavy as every footstep stomped against the ground. His hands felt five times as strong when he gripped the doorknob and tore it open. His fingers felt ten times as vengeful as he snapped a picture of Kurt's beaten and bloody body, and pressed the "send" button on his phone. His smile stretched across his face wider than he thought was possible as the message traveled through the air and into Blaine's hands.

/

/

/

Blaine stared at his phone.

_That can't be him. That can't be my boyfriend._

The bloody figure had Kurt's hair, his long legs, and his little waist. It had his pale skin and the hint of his mouth, almost completely hidden by his defined arm.

_ My Kurt._

It couldn't be him. It had to be someone else. Blaine would be able to handle it if it was somebody else, but not if it was Kurt. Nobody could hurt Kurt like that, not with his innocence, not with his gentleness.

Blaine felt a sob building in his throat. He could feel the air catching there and holding it hostage. He tried to exhale as slowly as he could, letting the air move back inside of him only when he felt he could control it.

_The blood._

_ So much blood._

Another sob raked through his body, settling painfully in his throat and stunting his breath again. He tried to control the air but his body wouldn't let him. It moved through him fast, too fast, a whirlwind of oxygen that clouded his brain in overdose.

"Mum…" He said, and his disoriented brain didn't understand why she couldn't hear him.

"Mom…" He tried, a little louder this time. He felt tears gathering in his eyes as the breath took him hostage. He couldn't control it anymore.

_I can't breathe._

Panic settled in with this realization. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die.

_Oh God._

"Mom!" He yelled. "Mom!" He moved forward, trying to get off his bed and meet her as she ran up the stairs.

He distantly heard a woman's voice saying his name somewhere outside his room, but he didn't understand. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The image of Kurt lying in a pool of his own blood was burned into his eyes and he couldn't see.

His mother was there suddenly, hands gripping his shoulders.

"It's okay, baby, calm down, calm down…"

Blaine collapsed, his mother pulling him into her arms. He heard her call out his father's name, just barely, because another sound was overwhelming it. It took him a moment to realize that the sound was coming from him, his own babbling of words as his brain tried to comprehend.

"He's – they've – and – they've – my – _so much blood!"_

He heard his father's voice, telling him to get a grip on himself or something. He felt his hand on his face.

_No!_

They had to stop concentrating on him. They had to save Kurt, they had to know about him.

"Dad – they've – they – Kurt – Kurt – Kurt - !"

"What? What about Kurt?"

"He's – they've – there's – he's - !"

"Blaine, breathe."

"I – I – Dad – "

"Blaine, I need you to calm down."

_They have to know._

Blaine desperately tried to articulate, but the words wouldn't form. He gasped for breath between every attempt, tears flowing freely down his cheeks and his hands gripping his bedspread and his mother's shirt.

"It's okay, Blaine. Talk to me."

His father's hand was around his waist, holding him tightly. Blaine's hand left his mother to grip it, the useless words pouring out of him desperately.

"I'm calling an ambulance." His mother reached across the bed for Blaine's phone, her hands shaking as she held her panicked son.

Then she saw the screen of his phone.

"Oh God…"

She whispered her husband's name, the blood draining from her face almost immediately. "Blaine, is this…?"

"It's – it's – they – they - "

His father took the phone from her hands, his eyes taking in the image as he clutched his son's waist. With a quick glance at his terrified wife, he skimmed through Blaine's contacts until he found Kurt's dad.

/

/

/

_My boy…_

Burt's eyes were unfocused, staring at the image. The police officer in front of him was urging him to answer, but he barely heard him. The thoughts and the worries drifted easily through his mind like a slideshow. The emotion was nowhere near where it should be. He should be angry. He should want revenge. He should want to catch the sons of bitches who did this to his child. But all he could think about was holding that little body in his arms, back when he was a newborn, looking down at the blue eyes that looked just like his own and vowing that he would do everything in his power to make sure nothing ever hurt him.

_My boy. Oh God, my baby…_

"Mr. Hummel?"

Burt looked up at the police officer, eyes glazed and burnt from the image. "That's… that's him. That's my Kurt."

The officer nodded. "Okay." He grabbed the blown-up image of the bloody figure and put it in a folder, eyes lacking any emotion.

Burt swallowed. "What now?"

"Sorry?"

"What do we do now? For Kurt?"

The officer spoke in near to a monotone. "Well, we'll open up an investigation and start looking for him as soon as possible. I promise that we'll do everything we can to find your son and bring him home safely."

Burt nodded, but grimaced, the image still burned in his mind. "So, you think he's… alive… then?"

The officer gave him a sympathetic smile, but Burt could tell it was faked. He probably practiced it in front of a mirror for occasions such as these. He gestured to the file beside him as he spoke. "Analysis of this photo shows that Kurt's muscles are tensed and his skin has color and perspiration, which indicates he was alive when it was taken. We can't be one hundred percent sure that he's still alive now, but it's highly unlikely that whoever took the picture would have killed him after it was sent."

"Unlikely, but not impossible."

"No."

Burt took in a breath, slowly. "What can I do?"

"The best thing you can do now is give us any information you have that is relevant to the case. We'll need the most recent picture you have of your son where his face is visible, and I have a few questions to ask."

"Of course. Ask me anything."

"When was the last time you saw your son?"

Burt had seen Kurt the previous morning. He'd stopped at the shop on his way to school to bring him his usual breakfast, and told him he was going out with Blaine. He'd seemed excited, happy, emotions Burt had been getting used to seeing now that he had a boyfriend. Kurt had given him a hug before he left, and told him he loved him. He didn't always do that. Had he known something was wrong?

The officer cleared his throat.

"Sorry… uh… yesterday morning. He stopped by the shop on his way to school. I work at a garage."

"Does he do that often?"

"Yeah, all the time. Our… morning schedules are different, so we don't see each other unless he stops by."

The officer was writing something down in the folder, nodding his head and refusing to make eye contact with Burt. It could've been intentional, but Burt saw it as apathy.

"Did he seem… off at all? Was he acting differently, maybe like something was wrong?"

Burt shook his head. "No. He was happy."

The image of his little boy, beaten and bloody and undoubtedly terrified, flashed before his eyes. He was happy. Now he was…

_That._

"Have you noticed him acting differently at all in the past few weeks, or even months?"

"No, he's been normal. Better than normal, actually. He has his first boyfriend, so he's been pretty wrapped up and excited about that."

_That._

The officer's muscles tensed slightly when Burt mentioned the word "boyfriend", but he relaxed back into his professional attitude once he recovered from the shock. "Your son is gay?"

Burt shouldn't have been offended at the statement, but somehow he was. "Yes." He resisted adding in the word "very".

The officer tapped his pen on the paper in front of him, thinking. "Can you think of anyone that might want to harm Kurt?"

"He's gay." Burt said. "Probably half the people in the country, if not more." Was this a hate crime? Did somebody do this to Kurt just because of his sexuality?

"Anyone specifically?"

Burt thought about it. "He's bullied a lot by some of the kids at school. There was this one kid that really had it in for him for a while, but they got over it last year and he's going to another school now. I'd say the jocks on the football team, but I don't think they'd go this far."

"Kurt's bullied by the football team at school?"

Burt shrugged. "All the kids in the glee club are. All the kids not on the football team probably are."

The officer nodded. "Are there any in particular that target Kurt specifically?"

"Just that kid last year, but like I said, they got over that." Burt shuddered just thinking about that Karofsky kid, but that ordeal was over now. Karofsky had started the anti-bullying movement in their school. He'd escorted Kurt to all of his classes as protection for when he switched back to McKinley. Kurt had forgiven him, gotten over it. It was all in the past.

_He threatened to kill him…_

"What was his name?"

The color drained from Burt's face. "Well… Dave Karofsky." Thoughts flew through Burt's mind, all headings to the horrific image of his injured child. "Actually… he… he threatened Kurt last year. He threatened to kill him."

The officer looked up at Burt, finally.

"And he targeted Kurt specifically… shoved him into lockers, stuff like that."

"And threatened to kill him."

The two men locked eyes for a second. Burt's thoughts became more panicked as the possibilities became evident. If that damn bastard had done this to his kid… and Burt hadn't protected him… this would be the second time, the second time that he hadn't done his job as a father.

"You said his name was Dave Karofsky?"

"Yeah. That's it."

The officer wrote down the name. "We'll keep that in mind. Now, moving on…"

/

/

/

Kurt let the tears pour out of his eyes.

He didn't want to look down at his body. He could feel the sticky liquid oozing out of him, drying and crusting on him like a dark red fungus. He could feel the pain coursing through him, still pounding in his head, throbbing in his ass, and now radiating through the rest of him. His back hurt. His legs were sore. His arms ached.

He'd been lying there, leaning against Dave, devouring the food he'd brought him. He'd noticed the bag of chips, the candy, the orange juice and the Vogue magazine in the bag that Dave had dropped on the mattress beside him. He hadn't been doing anything wrong, in fact he'd been doing exactly what Dave had wanted him to be doing. He'd been sitting there and eating, letting Dave rub his chest with a groping hand.

Then, without an explanation, he was suddenly being thrown to the ground, an angsty holler exploding from Dave. Kurt had yelped when he hit the hard cement floor, and turned with eyes that were avoiding the light to see the big figure looming over him, staring down at him with a heaving chest and evil-looking eyes. Kurt had whimpered Dave's name desperately, fearing that he was going to want something sexual.

Dave kicked him hard in his ribs, and Kurt cried out and recoiled. He didn't have time to recover from the blow that shook through his bones before a foot collided with his hip, then his stomach, his chest, his crotch. He tried to protect himself with his arms, but that proved to be even more painful, though he felt safer with hurting limbs rather than hurting organs.

Dave screamed and cried out with every kick, his arms flailing out with the effort and his face clenched in anger. Kurt matched his ululations with his own cries of pain. He desperately wanted to get up and run, but he was glued to the ground with Dave's repetitive beatings. Finally, a poorly aimed kick that landed on Kurt's face turned him onto his back, and left him whimpering in pain with a hand clutching his throbbing cheekbone.

Dave leaned down and grabbed Kurt by the shoulders, lifting him up just to toss him back to the ground. Kurt felt the bruises starting on his back, reminiscent of being shoved into lockers, but twice as violent. His head flung to the side when Dave slapped him across the face, screaming something at him, something about Blaine, but Kurt couldn't concentrate. His breathing was becoming hysterical as the pain raked through his body. Thoughts of escape ran through his mind, an overwhelming repetitive chant that threatened his hold on himself.

He felt himself being flipped over, and a hand grabbing his thighs and spreading him apart.

_No!_

He screamed, screamed as loud as he could.

_Not again!_

"No! No! No!" The panic and hysteria overtook him as he felt Dave's hand slipping down his pants and between his legs, his big finger pressing against his entrance and stretching the cut there.

Dave was screaming at him, his deep voice echoing through the room and bouncing around in Kurt's head as the tears dripped out of his eyes. He felt the brutal entrance of Dave's finger, the hard thrusting of it that tugged and tore at his already injured opening.

"God, Dave, no, it hurts! Please!"

Kurt could only register some of his words. The rest were muffled screams and cries that played as background noise to his agony. "You… midget… fuck… goddamn… your fucking… stupid little… your fucking ass…"

Kurt felt Dave's finger rip out of him as a warm liquid dripped down his thighs. He cried in pain as Dave stood and kicked him again, feeling his body rolling over and over and hearing his grunts and groans, trying not to feel the pain. He tried to get a grip on his hysteria and calm himself down, but every kick, every punch, every jolt of pain that alerted his senses pushed him further into his panic.

And suddenly, with one last hard kick, it was over. Dave was standing still, breathing heavily and glaring at Kurt's body in his fury. Kurt huddled up into a little ball while he had the time, preparing himself for anything else Dave wanted to do to him that he had no chance of stopping. But nothing came. He just lay there, listening to Dave's quick movements as he ran out of the storage shed, leaving Kurt lying there on the ground with the blood pooling around him.

As he tried to ignore the pain and the fear, he let the sobs pour out of his body, repeating the same wish that he'd been begging for since everything had begun.

"Daddy…"


	9. Chapter 9

**Dearest Readers,**

**Reviews, reviews, reviews, reviews…**

**It should be a requirement.**

**Smooches,**

**The Writer**

/

/

/

It was dark outside. The TV was on, the rocking chair squeaked, Dave's mother was audibly walking down the hallway and his father was chewing loudly on the couch, but it was all white noise to Dave. Looking ahead of him, his eyes could've been crossed. He looked, but he didn't see, at least not what was in front of him. He was imagining, or rather trying to remember, exactly what he'd blacked out.

"Are you alright, David?"

Dave blinked. "What?"

His father stared blankly back at him, a hint of concern barely audible in his voice. "I asked if you were alright."

Dave cleared his throat, having been staring into space, gripping Kurt's cellphone too tightly in his pocket without acknowledging his father or anything else in his environment for that matter since he'd sat down.

Aside from his nagging inability to recall his own actions, Dave had been wondering what in God's name he was going to do now. He'd kidnapped a classmate, raped him, beat him, hid him in his father's storage shed, and now he'd sent his dumbass pocket-sized boyfriend photographic evidence. Dave wasn't stupid, not when he was feeling emotionally normal. He understood the methods of the police – tracing calls and messages, using cellphone towers… he didn't know if they could pinpoint his location, but he didn't want to take the chance.

This meant that he had two options worth considering. The first was the easy way out – getting rid of the evidence. Even thinking about what he'd need to do in order for this to happen made Dave feel a little sick to his stomach, which he figured was probably past due, but regardless. He knew that this would be the most affective, and if he planned and played it all out perfectly, he would be sure to get off the hook.

But that sick feeling in his stomach made Dave reconsider. Perhaps he was being too compassionate, but he didn't want to cause Kurt any pain or suffering. He never had, at least not to his recollection. The only way he could think of to solve his problems and keep Kurt was near impossible. He'd need to leave town, of course, and hide out somewhere. He'd need money and a job, and probably a fake ID and a new paint job and license plate on his car. The main thing, however, was something he didn't know how to get.

He needed Kurt on his side.

_Get rid of the evidence._

"David?"

Dave cleared his throat again. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He would be, anyway, once he'd figured this out.

/

/

/

Blaine lay back in the hospital bed, his arms clutched too tightly around his waist. He could hear his father outside arguing with the doctor, saying he had a panic attack and he shouldn't be going home yet, that they needed to make sure he was okay. He'd already somehow managed to keep him in there for a night, probably because Blaine was still feeling unstable.

Blaine lay back in the hospital bed, his arms clutched too tightly around his waist. His father had just left to talk to the doctor, and his mother was gone to work after spending the night on a cot beside him. After seeing the picture message of Kurt and finally getting over his panic attack, Blaine had been feeling shaky and, in the words of his father, "unstable". His dad had somehow managed to convince the hospital to keep him there for the night though he didn't really need to. He was fine, at least physically. Emotionally was another story. The image of his boyfriend's mangled body was still burned in his mind, so much so that everything he looked at was through a filter of that picture. When he closed his eyes, it glowed brightly on the backs of his eyelids. The TV screen, though playing some reality show he'd heard of but never watched, registered in his mind as that photo, his boyfriend, his Kurt, lying there, the blood –

_The blood._

He heard somebody clearing his throat. When he turned, he recognized underneath the disturbing image he was trying to forget, Kurt's father, Burt.

"Hey, kid." Burt sat down in the chair beside his bed, pale with Kurt's blue eyes. He looked tired, worried, as anyone would look. Underneath this, and Blaine had known Burt long enough to recognize it, was a fire in his eyes. The anger was radiating through his veins, nearly making him glow red with the effort of compressing it.

"Hi," Blaine answered after a moment's hesitation. He looked down at his hands, suddenly self-conscious.

"I heard you had a panic attack."

"Yeah…"

Burt waited for a second, as if expecting Blaine to continue. When he didn't, he let out a sigh and leaned forward in his chair. His eyes had sad and angry tears in them that Blaine pretended not to notice.

"I was up all night with… with the police. Questioning me and all that."

Blaine nodded, turning too hopefully to Burt. "Are they getting anywhere?"

"Well, it's only been a day, but… they're investigating."

Blaine nodded again, looking back at his hands. It would be almost two days that Kurt was missing now. Blaine tried not to think about how he was still gone, how he was still with whoever had hurt him like that.

_That._

Blaine tried not to think about what they were doing to him now, but the thoughts surfaced in his mind regardless. Were they beating him? Were they saying terrible things to him? Was he scared? Was he hungry?

Was he alive?

"They, uh… they do know something, though."

Blaine's head flung up and he answered a little too quickly. "What? What do they know?"

Burt cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Well… the… the picture that… they sent."

Both winced at the image that came to their minds.

"Yeah?"

"The police can trace it."

Blaine felt the color draining from his face. "And? Where's it coming from?" He felt his hands begin to shake. "Does… does that mean they can find him? They can find him now, right?"

Burt sighed. "It's not that simple. They can't pinpoint exactly where he is… something about cellphone towers, and they can kind of figure out the general area of where it was sent from. It doesn't guarantee that Kurt's still there, either, they could've moved him by now, but…"

"But?"

"The picture wasn't sent in Lima."

Blaine shook his head. "Where was it sent from?"

"New Haven."

"New Haven… Indiana?"

"Yeah."

Blaine paused. "What the hell is he doing there?"

Burt looked at him sympathetically, though Blaine couldn't understand why. "I don't know, kid. Obviously he doesn't want to be."

Blaine shook his head again. They knew where he was, or thought they did, and yet he wasn't home yet. What were they doing? They should be looking for him. "How far away is that?"

"About an hour. A little more, I think." Burt answered, then guessed his motives and grew angry. "But don't even think about driving out there. It's dangerous, and it's useless. We don't know where he is, Blaine. We have to leave this to the police." Even as he spoke, his eyes proved that he didn't believe his words.

Burt really didn't. He knew he should be out there looking for his child, no matter how long it took him or how dangerous it was. He should be doing whatever it took to bring Kurt home, just like any reasonable parent would. After hours of interrogation, or "questions", as the police had called it, they'd lectured and scolded him about leaving this up to the professionals. Burt supposed that was for the best. The people that had Kurt were obviously dangerous – the gruesome photograph had proven that, and even if Burt did somehow manage to find his child, the chances of rescuing him safely were slim. Despite the anger and fear that overwhelmed him and the constant adrenaline pumping through his veins, Burt knew the best thing he could do for Kurt was the most difficult option he could think of – nothing.

Blaine was staring at Burt, a mixture of hurt and disbelief on his youthful face. "Look, kid," he started, feeling the need to justify himself. "I know this is hard. If this wasn't hard for us, we would be pretty messed up people, right?" He tried to smile, but his was nearly as weak as the one Blaine attempted in return. "Kurt is not going to come home any faster with us out there looking for him. We don't know where to go. And the people that have him… they're dangerous, Blaine. We both know that now. And the police know about this now… so we have to leave it up to them." He stared into Blaine's eyes, trying to get through to him, though Blaine didn't look as convinced as he would've liked. "Okay?"

Blaine exhaled. He supposed Burt was right. He wouldn't be able to do much, especially not now in his state. He felt so useless, so weak, unable to help or protect his boyfriend. He couldn't even think about the situation without feeling the onset of another panic attack. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. With his reactions, he probably should've felt relieved that Burt was telling him to try and relax and let the professionals handle it, but, though it was irrational, he found himself feeling mostly insulted.

Regardless, he answered, "Okay."

He wasn't sure if he meant it.

/

/

/

When Dave reached the storage shed, he didn't want to open the door. He was nervous about what he'd see, as if his anger from before had somehow shielded his mind from what he'd done. He half-expected to open the door and find Kurt in pieces.

He finally worked up the courage to step inside, and he found himself breathing a sigh of relief when he did. Kurt was…

_That._

He was lying in the same place as Dave had left him. He'd stayed there overnight, crumpled in a little ball with the blood drying and crusting on his body. Dave could see his little back lifting up and down, slowly and gently, with his shallow breath. He looked so small and pathetic, and the sick feeling returned to Dave's stomach.

He approached him cautiously. "Kurt?"

Kurt didn't move.

Nervous now, Dave kneeled down beside his beaten body, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. When Kurt still didn't respond, he shook him slightly, which fortunately warranted a small squeak.

He leaned down closer to him, whispering in his ear. "Kurt? Wake up, baby." Dave could feel the shivers from the cold rolling through his body. The compassion struck him again, and he pulled off his jacket and draped it over Kurt, feeling a bit relieved when it covered all the blood. "Wake up, mouse."

Kurt inhaled shakily but deeply, and his eyes flickered open, just for a few seconds before he groaned and closed them again.

Dave rolled him onto his back. "No, Kurt, stay awake…" He caught side of those beautiful blue eyes, just for a second before he shielded them with his hand.

He could move. That was a good sign. Dave slipped his arms underneath Kurt's body and carried him across the shed to the mattress, lying him down and tightening his jacket around him. He wished he'd brought a blanket. On retrospect, he felt pretty stupid for having come so ill equipped. He hadn't brought food or water or a change of clothes. He should've at least brought a first-aid kit, but apparently he hadn't been thinking at all when he'd left his house that morning.

"Poor thing…" Dave tried to wipe the blood off of Kurt's face, but it was all dried and crusted on him. A large bruise had appeared on his cheek and the blood was centered around his mouth. Dave figured from experience in football that he'd bitten the inside of his cheek.

Kurt had his eyes half-opened and he breathed lightly through his mouth, just barely registering the situation. He lay like that for a long time with Dave stroking his face and rubbing his arms to warm him up. Dave's stomach was growling by the time he looked conscious and aware.

Dave inched closer to him, his eyes opened and his mouth closed now. He wasn't shaking anymore, but he still looked terrible with the blood all over him. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt cleared his throat before answering. "My head hurts."

"Yeah, I think you have a concussion."

"Me too. Maybe it'd get better if you'd stop hitting my head."

Dave somehow smiled at Kurt's sarcasm. Its consistent reoccurrences really showed the extent of his bravery.

"Just a thought." He added, swallowing. His mouth was undoubtedly dry, and he was probably hungry again. Dave felt bad for not letting him finish his supper the day before.

"Oh…" Dave remembered that he'd gotten Kurt some chips and candy as well. Feeling an unjustified sense of pride at being able to feed him, he reached around the mattress and grabbed the bag, pulling out the food and the Vogue magazine. He grabbed Kurt under his arms and lifted him into a sitting position, letting him lean against his chest like last time, and then he opened up the chips and set them in his lap. "Here. Eat."

Kurt reached into the bag weakly, his body bruised and aching but too hungry to care. "Are you going to beat me up again?"

Dave winced. "No." He wasn't sure if it qualified as a lie or not. He didn't want to hurt him, but he apparently didn't have any control over that.

Kurt started eating slowly, but soon was grabbing handfuls of chips and shoving them into his mouth, not caring that the crumbs were falling onto his bloody shirt and the mattress. Dave watched him fondly, taking in his pink lips, the muscles of his jaw and the movement of his Adam's apple. He couldn't stop his eyes from flickering up to Kurt's blue ones, examining his eyelashes and his thin eyebrows. He ignored the blood.

As he slowed down, Dave figured it best to bring up his predicament. "So… I wanted to talk to you about something."

Kurt tensed. "What?"

His reaction confused Dave, but he continued anyway. "You… I… we can't stay here." He paused, but Kurt didn't respond. "Well… we shouldn't stay here."

Kurt had stopped eating now. "What do you mean?"

"I just… I think…" Dave searched for a way to articulate his feelings, but the words wouldn't form. "I mean, you've always wanted to get out of Lima, right?"

"Dave…"

"So have I. And I just think… I think we could…"

_Let him go._

_ Get rid of the evidence._

Dave pulled Kurt into his lap. "Just… just think about it. We could leave. We could get out of here and be together, you know? We could… we could…"

"Dave…"

"I mean, I'd fix you up. Of course I'll fix you up. I don't think it's as bad as it looks." He eyed out Kurt's bloody body, talking more to himself. "You just… you just need another bath, and a few band aids, something to eat besides chips and candy…"

Kurt turned, blue eyes locking with Dave's hazel ones.

"I need a doctor."

Dave's eyes flashed. "No, you don't. I'll fix you up."

"Dave." Kurt's voice was deeper now, less pleading and more demanding, his stubbornness overpowering the fear in his instinct.

Dave was imagining him and Kurt leaving together. Eloping. Going to a far away town or city, living in an apartment together. He could get a job and Kurt could stay at home. They could get a cat. It could be perfect.

"Dave, I need a doctor. Look at me. You hurt me."

"I…" Dave shook his head, ridding his mind of the image of Kurt's body and replacing it with their huge apartment, with a balcony, one bedroom with a king-sized bed…

"Dave, please…"

Dave looked back down at Kurt. "Kurt, you don't understand. We could be… we could be happy together."

"I could be happy with you? Could I really, Dave?"

Dave stared blankly at him.

"Think about it, Dave."

"I don't… I…"

"Dave. Would I be happy with you? Or would the person you want me to be be happy with you?"

"You are the person I want you to be."

"No. No, Dave."

"You could really love me, Kurt. You could love me like I love you." The words slipped out of his mouth unintentionally, but he went with it. "Do you hear me? I love you!"

Kurt started crying again.

"No, baby, don't cry… it's okay…" He wrapped his arms around his little body and pulled him close, feeling the smallness of his bones underneath his big hands. His long legs were bent and clutching at his hips like a baby as Dave lifted him, standing up and carrying him as he began pacing the room. "Don't cry, mouse, I love you so much…"

"No, Dave…" Kurt sobbed.

"What? Talk to me, what's wrong? Are you really hurting? Is it too much pain?"

"Put me down."

"Shh…"

"Put me down!"

"It's okay, mouse…"

Kurt shouted. "I said _put me down_!"

Shocked, Dave sat him gently on his feet. Kurt's eyes were filled with a familiar emotion, one that Dave could only just place. This was the look Kurt had had in his eyes when Dave had first kissed him, back in the locker room when they both had been so angry and Kurt wouldn't stop yelling… and that look in his eyes was so… sexy.

Dave's hands still clutched Kurt's hips, but Kurt grabbed them and pushed them off. He was shaking on his feet, and his back was slightly bent with the effort it took to stand. The pain was clearly pulsing through him. His face was stuck in a constant wince, showing his vulnerability, but for his angry and determined eyes.

"Kurt, why are you so angry?

"Are you kidding me? I can't do this. I need to go home. I need a fucking hospital because of what you did to me!" He backed up slowly, limping, hands wrapped around his abdomen.

Dave shook his head, confused. "Kurt no, listen to me…" He reached out for Kurt, taking a step forward to touch him.

"No!" Kurt screamed. He spun around and ran as best he could across the storage shed, jumping behind a dresser to put something between them. "Get away!"

"Kurt!" Dave walked up to him. "Kurt, don't."

His voice was growing hysterical, his body shaking with the fear and adrenaline. "You're going to kill me. You're going to kill me!"

"Wait, Kurt… New York. We could go to New York!"

"Just take me home, you fucking psychopath! I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"You could be a performer, and I could get a job doing something… we could be happy." The word sounded foreign. "Happy, Kurt!"

Kurt clutched onto the dresser violently with white and shaking fingers. His eyebrows were narrowed, face determined underneath the blood and the bit of vomit. "You fucking raped me, Dave. You kidnapped me. You're holding me here against my will! Does that mean nothing to you? Do you understand what you're doing?"

_Let him go._

Dave exhaled slowly, trying to keep himself calm. "Kurt… Kurt, listen. They… they know. They know I have you. I sent that goddamn picture to that fucking hobbit and they can trace those things. They can trace us, Kurt!"

The color drained from Kurt's face. "What… what picture?"

"That picture of you… and they're going to know. So we have to get out of here, Kurt. We can go to New York! Come on, baby." Dave stepped towards him, but stopped when Kurt screamed.

"Stay away! You sent my boyfriend a picture of me? You sent Blaine – you – oh my God – my dad – my dad will see – my – no - !"

"Kurt, stop it, baby, you're hyperventilating."

"No!"

"Kurt!"

"Get the fuck away from me! You're fucking insane! I fucking hate you!"

_Let him go._

_ Get rid of the evidence._

Dave took two long strides towards his captive, easily fighting off his struggles as he gripped him under his arms and lifted him roughly over his shoulder. "You won't hate me. You'll love me, Kurt. You'll learn to love me."

"I won't fucking love you! I will never love you! Do you hear me?"

"I'm better than that fucking dwarf."

"That fucking dwarf's name is Blaine, and I love him! Not you! Now let me go! Let me go!"

_Let him go._

_ Let him go._

Dave clutched Kurt's body tightly, feeling the blood dripping down his shirt. How was he so vocal in his state? Not caring about who saw him now, he flung open the door to the storage shed. It was dark now, so dark that he almost couldn't see his car, but when his eyes adjusted he led himself to it with the struggling body screaming in his arms. He tossed Kurt carelessly into the backseat, whispering menacingly into his ear through gritted teeth that he would kill him if he tried to escape. He slammed the door shut, locking it, and sat down in the passenger's seat as Kurt screamed and tried to open the door. Just as he was unlocking it, Dave was putting the car in reverse.

"Sit the fuck down, Fancy."

Kurt glared at Dave. "You won't get away with this. They know who you are, like you said. They'll find you. They'll find you and you'll go to jail and I'll go to a fucking hospital and have to deal with this for the rest of my life." The tears leaked out of his eyes they burned holes into Dave's rearview mirror.

"Shut up."

Kurt whimpered and cried regardless, struggling as Dave backed up and drove towards the highway.

Kurt was right. They could never be happy together.

_Get rid of the evidence._


	10. Chapter 10

Dearest readers,

I apologize for the delay in updating. I came down with a terrible case of Writer's Lethargy. Warning: This chapter is very graphic and bloody. Second Warning: I didn't proof read.

Smooches,

The Writer

PS: Reviews, reviews, reviews, reviews

PPS: REVIEWS‼‼‼

PPPS: Big … *long* … REVIEWS‼‼

Blaine put the car in park on the side of the road. He kept it running, the radio playing so quietly he couldn't hear it, or perhaps his mind was just too cloudy to register the sound. His nerves were suddenly kicking in, as though his previous rush of adrenaline, fueled by love and the fear of emasculation, had worn off on the hour drive to New Haven.

_Indiana._

He was right outside the city, staring at the lights inside, the smoky haze of smog above, the street signs and the moving cars, all seeming so innocent, so completely oblivious to what was happening amongst it all.

Kurt was in there, somewhere. Blaine knew it. He felt it. It was the reason he'd snuck out of his bedroom in the middle of the night. It was the same day he'd went home from the hospital. He'd gone to bed, and he'd lay there alone with his parents asleep in their room across the hall, eyes wide awake staring at the ceiling, the tightness in his chest still torturing him. The image of his beaten boyfriend was still burned into the backs of his eyelids, something he knew the disappearance of would be miraculous. His thoughts kept drifting to Indiana, to Kurt, to the bastards that were hurting him. The possibilities of Kurt's safety and his health were nothing but negative in his head. He couldn't stop wondering what was happening to him. Were they hurting him?

Of course they were. Logic detached from his emotions told Blaine that Kurt was probably already dead. Whoever had beat him up had probably killed him at this point. Why would they keep him alive? Unless they wanted something, of course. But they hadn't made an effort to ask for something, implying Kurt wasn't a hostage.

Blaine really didn't know much about the motives behind abduction, save for what he'd seen on television. All of the crime scene shows out there overdramatized it, though, of course, otherwise nobody would watch them. They overdramatized the plot, but what Blaine had discovered over the few days Kurt had been missing was the trivialization of the tragedy. He couldn't stop thinking about his boyfriend, his perfect, beautiful boyfriend – _gone._

It wasn't long after these thoughts had gone through his mind that Blaine had decided where he needed to be. He'd gotten out of bed, grabbed his school backpack off the floor and poured out the books, stuffed some clothes and his debit card inside, tiptoed down the stairs and left the house with his mom's car keys clutched in his hand.

Driving to Indiana, he waited for his parents to call his cellphone. They didn't. When he parked along the side of the road, gazing into the city, he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do next, looking forward at the smog and the lights as if they'd guide him to Kurt.

Kurt's eyes glowed in fury from the backseat of Dave's car. His hands clutched his own clothes, turning white with the effort. His face was pale with anger and pain, still smeared with his own blood and bruises. Dave tried not to look at him lying there, bloody and broken and so full of hatred. A sickness was arising in Dave's stomach, spreading sharply to his fingertips, a returned fury to match Kurt's digust. It spread further, radiating through his body and settling unnervingly in the center of his crotch.

He drove down the highway, his future actions already formulating as distinct and unchangeable plans as if he were envisioning his own destiny. He wondered if Kurt, lying there breathing heavily and shakily in the backseat, knew his fate. In the occasional near-subconscious glance in the rearview mirror, Dave would see Kurt's crumpled body. He looked so small, so helpless and vulnerable even through the almost visible waves of fury that radiated off his body and sunk under Dave's skin. The sight didn't change Dave's mind.

_Get rid of the evidence._

He'd settled on his plan. His only problem now was his new urge to add onto it. Kurt's little body in the backseat was sending waves of want through his body, enveloping his brain in a cloud of sweaty, perfumed smoke that smelled and looked like that first night reincarnate. His hands, gripping the steering wheel, remembered the feel of Kurt's soft skin, the firm and brittle bones underneath that left Dave in overwhelming control, the curve of his hips and finally the gorgeous raise of his thighs into his perfect ass. His crotch throbbed mercilessly, impatience and frustration beginning to surface.

Dave pressed down on the gas pedal. He was speeding, but he didn't care, though the thought of what he'd have to do if he were pulled over by the police did press on the back of his mind as an invisible blockade over one-forty. He could see Kurt's body shaking in the backseat, obviously nervous at the speed.

"Dave…" He said, his voice wavering.

The sound of his beautiful voice sent another jolt of excitement through Dave's body. He found himself exhaling roughly, his heartbeat quickening and his muscles tensing. He couldn't stop his eyes from flickering to the rearview mirror, centering on Kurt's arms around his stomach, the curve of his hip jutted out on his side, the steady, shaky raise and fall of his chest.

His eyes flickered to his face. Kurt was crying, though Dave was getting used to that. His skin was red. His mouth was bruised, his cheekbone swelling from when Dave had kicked him. His tongue darted out to lick his swollen lips. Dave mimicked this. Kurt exhaled through his mouth, showing the red wetness inside with his little white teeth. Dave bit his lip, his eyes narrowing hungrily.

_Get a grip!_

Dave set his eyes on the road, watching the yellow lines appear in the distance illuminated by his brights and disappear underneath his windshield washers. He scanned the ditches, looked curiously down the dirt roads that showed up, watched the signs passing, wondering where in God's name he was supposed to do this.

He'd park somewhere that looked abandoned. He'd get out, pull Kurt out of his car, push him into the ground, wrap his fingers around his tender little throat and close his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch. He'd squeeze with all his might, holding Kurt down with his legs over his chest and a hand gripping his wrists. He'd block out the whimpering, the choaking, the adorable squeaking noises that pulled at his heart, squeeze as hard as he could until Kurt's body stilled underneath him. His struggling would stop, his noises would stop, and Dave would let go, look down at his newly lifeless form. His hand would leave his throat and a short exhale would drift from Kurt's body as if it was his soul leaving him. His eyes would be blank and broken, lifeless, staring up at nothing with his limp body finally giving into Dave's strength.

_Dead._

Dave would lift him up gently, holding him tight to his chest, probably bursting into tears and hysterically apologizing against his dead little shoulder. He'd cry for a long time. He'd break down completely, holding the boy he loved tightly in his arms. Finally, he'd get a grip on himself as he continued to tell himself to do, and he'd carry him back into his car, laying him down carefully in the backseat. He'd gaze into his perfect blue eyes one last time, memorizing their light ice color that had Dave so enmeshed, and he'd close them with his fingers.

He'd drive somewhere. He'd have to check his GPS – maybe there was a lake around here or something. He'd pull his own clothes off of Kurt, wipe off the blood, and get rid of the body. Then he'd go back to the storage shed and clean up, then back home and clean the blood off of his garage floor. He'd make sure there wasn't any evidence.

Next week, he'd probably down a bottle of aspirin with a glass of wine because he couldn't live without him.

Ironic.

He allowed himself to look at Kurt in the mirror again. His perfect face was scrunched in pain and fear, his eyes squeezed shut. Dave wondered if that's what he looked like when he was orgasming, that look of pleasure pain through his climax, a moan escaping his lips as he came down from his high…

Dave's crotch was throbbing heartily now. It was starting to piss him off. After he'd finished all of this, he'd have to make sure he went home and took a long shower with his right hand.

_Or…_

Dave glanced back into the rearview mirror.

_Why not?_

And really, was there a good reason why he shouldn't? He was already going to kill him, why not do it again? What was stopping him?

_Kurt…_

Of course he would be prolonging Kurt's suffering. He'd be humiliating him and putting him through even worse pain that was necessary, and then he'd kill him like he meant nothing. Dave had already admitted that he did mean something to him.

He didn't want to cause Kurt anymore pain. He supposed he could kill him first and then do it, but he doubted that would do anything for him. Necrophilia wasn't really his thing.

_Why not…_

Dave's driving was slowing down now, the beginning of an erection becoming apparent in his pants. The thought of relieving himself of this renewed desire was already calming him down. He felt like if he suddenly turned around and denied himself this luxury, he'd black out again, wouldn't be able to control himself, and do something he'd regret. He wasn't sure what that would be, and he was planning on killing Kurt anyway so he probably shouldn't have been too concerned. Perhaps he was just looking for an excuse. Either way, he found himself slowing the car down, forcing his eyes to stay on the road instead of his rearview mirror. He turned down an old gravel road and drove a ways down it before pulling to the side and parking. Only then did he allow his eyes complete control over themselves, letting his head turn with them so he could look at Kurt dead on.

The poor thing looked completely terrified. Dave didn't care. He got out of the car, keeping his limbs steady even though they wanted to shake from the anticipation. He pulled open the back door, looking down at Kurt with controlled breathing.

Then he lost it.

Kurt felt the air rushing by him as he moved through it, and then the hard gravel underneath him giving him road burn. He grunted with the pain, and the tears started up at full force as his already aching body cried louder for a break. He tried to drag himself forward, just a few inches away from Dave, but his strength was gone and he collapsed into the fetal position. His eyes locked on his captor, hoping to God that something would save him from this next thing, whatever horrible thing it would be.

Dave glared down at him, his shivering body completely recoiled with terror and fatigue. The anger pulsed through his veins, blurring his vision and tightening his muscles. Thinking back to the last time he felt this high on adrenaline, he wondered if he'd remember this when it was over.

"D-…Dave, please…" Kurt whimpered. He still tried, even though he should have learned by now that it didn't help. If anything it made Dave's pants feel even tighter, restraining him, so much that in his fury he just reached down and tugged them off. When Dave looked back up at his cowering hostage, the terror and dread on his face was enough to make him dive forward.

_Fuck this._

"Mmph! Dave, no!"

He was on top of Kurt before either of them knew what was happening. Kurt gasped and screamed when he felt Dave's hands on him, yanking down his pants with shameless excitement. Dave pinned his arms down beside him, squeezing his wrists far too tight. With his arms deemed useless, Kurt tried using his legs, but Dave was keeping them securely closed with his own.

"Nng, Dave, get – get off me!"

Kurt felt Dave releasing him slightly and lifting up, and for a second he felt the smallest glint of hope that he'd be spared. Then he felt his body being turned around and the rough gravel digging into his stomach and the side of his face. Dave was ripping the sweatpants down over Kurt's legs and tossing them aside carelessly.

Kurt just sobbed, begging, knowing what was happening and knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop it. His whimpering came naturally but neither of them seemed to hear it.

Dave pushed Kurt's legs apart, throwing aside the bloody paper towel and settling between them. His breathing grew rough and heavy, noisy and laboured. "Want this, baby? You want to take my cock in?"

"Nng – no – ugh - !"

Dave lined himself up with Kurt's body, ignoring the blood and the bruises. "You want me inside you?" He gripped Kurt's thighs, pulling them apart. He reached back and stroked his own member roughly. Kurt sobbed loudly, letting the tears and the noises escape from him mercilessly. His body shook violently from the terror, the cold and the pain. Dave ignored all of this, his eyes digging into his perfection.

Kurt quickly lost his composure. The moment he felt Dave's penis pushing against him, he completely broke down. He felt the panic, the quick, terrorizing breath came. He hyperventilated, he clutched at the road as the tears blinded him and poured down his face. His throat ignored the pain that came with his sudden everlasting screaming and sobbing and begging. All of his muscles were clenched tighter than he thought possible. He prayed that they'd loosen, just a little, prayed that he'd be able to control them. Then he could submit to Dave and make the pain a little more tolerable.

He couldn't. With a disgusting moan of pleasure Kurt knew he'd never be able to forget, he felt Dave's brutal entrance into him, and the pain broke through his body like a tsunami. It didn't stop his panic attack; his screaming only grew louder, crying for help and for his father.

Dave was merciless. He didn't hold back, didn't even try. He thrust into Kurt with every ounce of strength in him, slamming aginst his body, treasuring the feel of him around him and refusing to hold back his moans of ecstasy. Any noises that Kurt was making drifted right by his head. He didn't hear them and didn't care to try and listen. Halfway through, he gripped Kurt around his little waist and spun him on to his back, hiking his legs up to his shoulders without leaving his body.

"Ugh – Dave, I c-can't - !"

Kurt's back screamed with resistance in the new position. He tried to force his legs back down but Dave held them in place, spreading them apart and making Kurt's hips ache from the stretch. His voice turned higher from the pain, the tears dripping down his cheeks from the feeling of utter helplessness. He tried not to feel the burning sensation at his entrance, the one that felt so good when the cause was Blaine or even himself, and now was so disturbingly tainted. He couldn't stop his muscles from clenching around Dave inside him, making the pain swell. The fissure there screamed, reopening and stretching dangerously.

The sound of Dave's hips hitting against Kurt was more arousing than he thought it would ever be. He hiked Kurt's legs up as high as his muscles would let him so that his ass was off the ground and he could watch himself fucking him.

_Raping him._

He loved it, watching the way Kurt's body reacted to his thrusting, how his erection looked so much bigger shoved inside of him, how stretched and open the tiny hole was for him. Kurt's beautiful, long legs finally came to a tense rest over Dave's shoulder, and he could feel their muscles flexing and twitching with his movements. He took the opportunity to drop his hands to Kurt's ass, squeezing it and rubbing hard circles into the firm flesh with his thumbs. His fingers crept towards Kurt's hole, stroking around its stretched tightness as he thrust into it, moaning.

Kurt had his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"_Hey, baby."_

_ Blaine's beautiful dark eyes would be on him, so filled with love and pride. He'd place a gentle kiss on Kurt's cheek and sit beside him, arm slipping around his back and gripping his waist. Kurt would rest his head on Blaine's._

_ "Hey."_

_ His smile would sound through the word, and Blaine would squeeze his hip fondly, lifting his head up to kiss his lips, then his neck, down to his collarbone._

_ "You looked so good in school today."_

_ Kurt would smile._

_ "Better than usual." His tongue would graze along his jawbone, his lips just barely touching him. "You have no idea how sexy you are."_

_ Kurt would inhale swiftly, the familiar arousing shivers trailing through his body._

Growing excited, Dave gripped Kurt's hips and spun him over onto his stomach again, pulling his ass onto his lap. Kurt felt limp in his arms, soundless, still full of life but so idle, like he'd given in. Dave pushed into him fearlessly.

_Blaine's hand would grip Kurt's knee as he leaned in to kiss his lips, pushing his tongue into his mouth. His hand would move up, gripping his thigh, up over his hip with fingertips just barely grazing Kurt's crotch. He'd touch him with spread fingers, feeling his way up Kurt's body just to feel its way back down. Their bodies would move closer. Kurt's pants would start feeling too tight, and Blaine would think that they weren't close enough._

_ They'd collapse forward onto the ground, the green grass poking up and chafing their skin but both of them feeling too intimate and sensual to think it bad. Kurt's hand would follow Blaine's, feeling down his own body, touching his nipples and lifting up his shirt when he reached the hem. Blaine would get excited and sit back, pulling off his own shirt hastily and diving back onto his boyfriend. His hand would feel around Kurt's back, dropping down his hips to his ass. Kurt's legs would hike up and he'd hold his knees to his chest. Blaine would take it as a hint, head lowering down to mouth at Kurt's crotch. Kurt would let a moan escape his lips, lacking the embarassment he would've had somewhere else._

Dave slowed down his movement, eyebrows furrowing as his concentration suddenly focused on Kurt instead of himself. Kurt had made a whimpering noise, a long and deep whine that Dave had never heard before. If he didn't know any better he would've sworn it was a –

No. He didn't want to think it, knowing it wasn't true. Regardless of this decision, he continued thrusting with a new concern for the body beneath him.

_Blaine would unbutton his jeans, brown eyes filled with lust gazing up into Kurt's own passion masked face. He'd slowly, carefully pull down the zipper, watching Kurt the entire time, and then roll his jeans off his legs, gripping his underwear and pulling that down with them. He'd break the eye contact to gaze down at Kurt's crotch. Kurt would spread his legs more and Blaine would lower his head, pink tongue appearing through red lips to lick at the crown of Kurt's penis. Kurt would whimper from the sensation, voice turning high with want._

Dave gripped Kurt's hips and turned him over, holding his legs up more gently this time. His eyes locked themselves on Kurt's face. He thought he was hearing things, or misunderstanding the noises he was hearing. The sounds Kurt was making appeared to be that of enjoyment. Was he surrendering himself to this? Dave felt a jolt of pleasure at the thought, his movements slowing down but growing more compassionate, more precise, deeper and harder with his grip on Kurt's legs suddenly aware of its strength.

_Kurt's hips would involuntarily be thrusting upwards, Blaine clutching at his thighs with his eyes closed, making sucking noises. Kurt's limbs would start shaking, and he'd feel Blaine's thumb stroking him gently, comfortingly. He'd waste no time. His head would drop lower between Kurt's legs, kissing a path down his perineum until it rested against the opening there. Kurt would feel his tongue pressing against him, lightly, and rubbing against him. Blaine's breath would grow uneven with excitement. He'd push his tongue inside, feeling the warmth of his boyfriend. He'd pull back and touch him with the tips of his fingers, rubbing the little opening there, loving how it jumped and puckered in response to his touches._

"Mmm…"

_ He'd suck one of his fingers into his mouth and then press it inside the opening, gently pushing it in and then hooking his finger in search of Kurt's prostate. He'd slip another finger in right after, making Kurt wince with the stretch but moan nonetheless because it was his boyfriend causing it. The trust he had for him overcame the pain._

"Yeah…"

Dave couldn't stop the smile from appearing on his face. He had no idea what, but he was doing something differently, something that was making the little body beneath him writhe in excitement, moaning in pleasure, all from his steady and rhythmic movement against it. Did Kurt like it rough? He found himself growing even more aroused from this new situation, pushing harder against Kurt and relishing in the fact that he enjoyed it, enjoyed _Dave_ being there with him.

"Oh! Yeah…"

_ Blaine would have his four fingers in, one brushing perfectly against his prostate with every movement. His eyes would switch between Kurt's stretched and filled opening and his face contorted with desire. The combination would be sending rays of impatience through him, making his sac ache and his penis throb, fully erect between his legs. He'd sit up in front of Kurt's crotch, still thrusting him steadily with his hand. He'd scissor his fingers, stretching him and making as much room as possible before pulling them out, then he'd line himself up. Kurt would look down at him, eyes darting between Blaine's penis between his legs, the toned muscles on his tanned chest and the dazed sex scowl on his face, growing needy with anticipation. Blaine, seeing the desire and excitement on Kurt's face, would grip Kurt's thighs tightly, hiking them up against his chest, and with a steady precision that had Kurt throwing his head back in satisfaction, he'd push inside._

"Ohhhh…"

"You like that?" Dave pushed into him, hands squeezing his thighs and trailing down to his ass, up to his waist, thrusting against him with a compassionate vigor.

"Ung… mmm… uhh… unnmm…"

Dave found himself slowly lying down on top of Kurt, his legs hiked up against his chest like a pretzel. Kurt held them there with his own hands, eyes squeezed tightly shut as the moans escaped him steadily. His body jerked up with the power of Dave's thrusts, his head falling back with the pleasure.

"Oh… oh, yeah… yeah…"

Dave's eyes were locked on Kurt's face. His cheeks were red, and a few beads of sweat were gathering on his hairline. The expression was nothing like he'd seen in porn, nothing like the girls who tried to look pretty through their faked orgasm. This was a look of carelessness, of desperation and vulnerability. It was a look so pure and innocent despite its blasphemy, so gorgeous with consent and enjoyment, and through this, Dave was able to catch a glimpse of what things could've been like had he been more brave, brave like Kurt.

He could see it, last year again, still at his old school with Kurt, standing at his locker beside the other jocks. Kurt would walk by wearing another outrageous outfit with the tight pants that fit so perfectly across his ass. He'd stare straight ahead, one of the girls from glee attached to his hip. Dave would turn and see him. His stomach would drop, his heart would clench, his crotch would throb needily. He'd steal a permanent image of those beautiful blue eyes, devour his gorgeous pale skin, and Kurt would keep walking by him, completely oblivious to Dave's admiration.

And instead of growing afraid of what this meant for Dave, instead of blaming Kurt and rebelling against himself, he would've accepted who he was and moved on. Despite his reputation, he would've admitted his attraction to the beautiful angel underneath him and set out on his pursuit of happiness, forgetting the title of "jock", forgetting his faked attraction to girls and the pathetic friendships he'd just barely held onto by pretending to be something he wasn't.

"Ooh… ohh, yeah – ohhhh!"

These moans could've been real from the start. He could've earned them, could've brought them out of Kurt gently instead of stealing them like he had now. Then this wouldn't have been the last time he'd get to hear them. If he'd had more courage, he could've had the chance to hear Kurt's voice like this, high and needy and passionate, manipulated by desire, every night for the rest of his life. He could've had the chance.

"Uhnn… Yeah… Yes! Yes! Ohhh…!"

Dave pushed into Kurt, feeling the tightness, loving the smooth textures and sensations that shot through his body. He held on to the soft skin of his thighs, gripping and squeezing at the muscles, tensed from his arousal. He felt the sticky contact of their stomachs touching, the fronts of Dave's thighs slipping against Kurt's ass, the open-palmed touch of Kurt's hands on Dave's back, so gentle and compassionate. Dave leaned down, still thrusting, feeling the closeness of his orgasm and hearing the closeness of Kurt's.

"Ugh! Yeah! Harder!"

Dave thrust harder. He could feel Kurt's own arousal grown between their stomachs. He grinded up into it, grinded down against Dave's motions, his grip on Dave's back strengthening as he grew closer to climax.

"Nng! Nng! Nng! Oh! Fuck! Fuck!"

He could've had this. He could've had all of this, every day, every night, Kurt's beautiful body, his face, his adorable high voice. He could've had his tight pants, his crazy, obnoxious outfits, his sometimes snobby expression. He could've had his smart comebacks, his bravery, his compassion and his will.

He could've had his support. He could've had someone to help him through his struggles, to love him and to stand beside him no matter what. He could've had someone that would love him for who he was, not who he pretended to be, someone that understood what it was like to be him, to hide in fear of himself, of what he was. He could've had someone that would help him realize that he wasn't alone, to stop him from feeling so lonely and useless. No, not just someone, but Kurt. He could've had Kurt.

"Nnnggg – mmnng – _Blaine!"_

But he'd lost that chance.

_"Blaine!"_

And now there was no going back.

_"Blaaaaaine!"_

_He's mine._

_ I'm yours._

_ All yours._

_ Blaine._

Dave stopped. He sat up. His hands left Kurt's body, his arousal was steadily disappearing, the sight of his orgasm was gone as if it had never existed. He glared up at Kurt's face. Kurt, who's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, who's expression was contorted in desire and need, who's muscles were clenched in preparation for the pleasure. Who was imagining someone else inside of him in order to deal with the fact that he was being raped.

Compassion gone, Dave ripped out of him. Kurt screamed with the pain, eyes flying open in surprise. He immediately remembered where he was, and the passion left his face to be replaced by a deep, pure terror. His instinct was strong. He knew something was about to happen, something horrible, something that he needed to get away from, to run away from, now.

Dave dove on top of him. His elbows landed on Kurt's arms, holding him tightly in place. His legs pushed against Kurt's thighs. Kurt winced with pain, throwing his head from side to side and jerking his torso madly without any progress. He screamed loud.

Tears that he couldn't explain were gathering in Dave's eyes. His hands reached up to grip around Kurt's throat, making the expression on Kurt's face turn pleading along with the fear. Dave squeezed. Kurt's eyes grew big, his mouth opened. They looked into each other's eyes, one seeing horror and the other seeing angst. The tears spilled over Dave's eyes, dropping down onto Kurt's face, and the tears started for him, too. Dave squeezed them out of Kurt's eyes, watching him gag with the pressure, struggling to breath, the salty droplets rolling down his red cheeks and dripping down onto the gravel beneath him.

Kurt grew weak beneath him. Unthreatened, Dave allowed Kurt his arms back, letting him reach up to grip around Dave's hands. He tugged at them pathetically, gasping, choking noises escaping his throat. He tried to move his legs. His lips turned blue, then the rest of his face. His eyes were panicked. He could feel the life leaving him, the world darkening, his eyes growing heavy…

Dave was loosening his grip, confident that Kurt wasn't strong enough anymore. Kurt felt the use of his limbs suddenly available to him. He took it as an opportunity, his instinct snapping him out of his fatigue, the adrenaline allowing him a sudden renewed strength. He thrust his leg up as hard as he possibly could, his knee hitting Dave straight between the legs. Dave gasped in pain, high-pitched like a wounded puppy, and his hands left Kurt's throat to grasp his crotch.

Coughing intensely, Kurt reached over and grabbed Dave's side. He pulled with all his strength, making Dave topple over. Kurt jumped up. He didn't feel the pain, didn't feel the pounding in his head or the ache between his legs. He did feel Dave grabbing him, clutching his foot and yanking him onto the ground. Kurt screamed. He struggled, grabbing onto the nearest object to hold him up – the car door that Dave had left opened. It swung, slamming Kurt's hands painfully as it tried to close.

"Kurt, you fucking bitch!" Dave cried, muffled and broken through both boys' struggling.

With a cry of defeat, Kurt's hands slipped from the door, swung his arms back, and punched Dave in the face. Dave groaned in pain but didn't let go of him, instead toppling on top of him, grinding him into the hard gravel road. Kurt kept punching, pushing against Dave. He managed to sit up, Dave's arms gripped around his waist. Dave pulled on him, tried to get him back underneath him but couldn't. Kurt was clutching the car door again, screaming and grunting with the effort of staying up.

"Dave! Please!"

"Kurt, just stop! Stop fucking struggling!"

"God, Dave, let me go, just let me _go!"_

"Fuck, Kurt!"

And then time froze. Kurt was standing. Dave was still kneeling underneath him, his head raising up, barely aware yet of what was going on. Kurt was clutching the car door beside him, holding onto it as if his life depended on it, eyes darting between the back seat of the car and Dave sitting there in front of it. Without thinking, only terrified for his life, he gripped the door as hard as he could, and with a cry of determination, he swung it forward as hard.

Blood spurted from Dave's nose when it hit him, his head flying back and landing in the car, lodged against the frame, his back awkwardly curved to keep him there. He groaned in pain, disoriented. Kurt didn't let him regain himself. He grabbed the door, pulled it back and slammed it forward again, Dave's head flying back and then forward with the impact. His blood sprayed into the backseat, gashes appearing on his forehead, red sprinkling down over his chest and around the gravel. Kurt slammed the door again, whimpering, the fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He slammed it closed, watching in a sick amazement as the blood spurted everywhere, flying far enough to splatter Kurt's own face and body, mixing Dave's blood with his own. He kept slamming, even when Dave's body was collapsed there, gurgling noises escaping his throat. And then the convulsions started. His body shook violently, eyes rolling back into his head, so covered in blood that he was barely recognizable lying there. Kurt only froze when Dave's body stopped moving, so completely idle and still, unnervingly so. When he stopped, Dave no longer looked like a person, only a pile of flesh and blood, a war victim, a lifeless pulp from a gory movie.

An unsettling feeling swept through the air. The wind blew, the trees rustled. The night air was suddenly cold and apparent. A pressure in Kurt's gut evolved, a feeling that he'd done something terrible.

He didn't stop to let it sink in. Kurt forced himself to let go of the door, whimpering with pain and fear but moving regardless. He forced one foot in front of the other, thoughts focused on nothing but escape. He knew he wasn't moving fast enough to get away. He waited to be recaptured, waited for Dave to grab him and hurt him more, throw him into the grass and put his hands back on his bruised and sore throat. Kurt's breath became difficult. It grew loud and labored through the pain and his fear.

He moved as fast as he could for as far as he could. He passed by the trees, turned onto the highway, stumbling in the grass with blood dripping down his legs, a path of droplets following him as he moved. He whimpered and cried, then sobbed, holding back screams. He didn't know where he was going, but he just kept moving, gazing forward into the darkness, hoping that he'd come across someone or something that could help him.

Finally, he collapsed. He fell onto his hands and knees, whimpering and crying with pain. He allowed himself to glance behind him, expecting to see Dave chasing after him. He saw nothing. He looked forward, trying to drag himself, forcing himself to crawl a few more feet, just a little bit more. He stopped, thinking to himself that he couldn't do this but telling himself that he could. He forced himself forward. Smears of blood were left behind him.

He stopped, gazing forward. A glimmer of hope built in his heart. He could see a building in the distance, small, with gas pumps and a big advertisement sign in front of it. A gas station. Taking a deep breath, Kurt clutched the ground beneath him and tried to get up, carefully slipping a foot underneath him and pushing, gripping the ground carefully. Touching his bare skin by accident, he realized that he was naked from the waist down, but it didn't phase him. He finally stood. He stepped forward, trying to run but unable to with the pain. He could see the gas station getting closer and closer until finally he was just about there. He looked around desperately.

"Help!" His voice was barely there, still sore and raspy from being choked. "Help, please!"

He reached the door, peering inside. It was dark, closed for the night. He spun around, barely registering the gas tanks, the litter on the ground, and finally a little further away, he saw a payphone. He registered that. He ran forward, whimpering, wincing when he realized his feet were bare and frozen. He reached the payphone, stepping inside the little shelter and grabbing the phone.

_I don't have any money._

With a groan of exasperation, he looked around, looking down at the ground, searching for what he'd see as a miracle. Tears blurring his vision, he looked back up at the phone pleadingly. He touched the reciever, feeling hopeless.

_Daddy…_

Worried and desperate he scanned the phone, looking for a sign, something to help him. His eyes stopped on the refund button, and with a feeling of anticipation and hope, he pushed it. He let out an exhale of relief. A clanking noise sounded in the phone, the sound of somebody's change clattering into the refund pocket. Kurt found himself saying thank you, though to who he had no idea.

With shaking fingers, Kurt grabbed the money and put it in. Then he stared at the phone, wondering what he should do. He wanted his father more than anything, to hear his voice, knowing how comforting it would be. His father would make everything feel okay.

But everything wouldn't be okay. The sound of his father's voice would comfort him only for a second, and then he would return into the panic when his father couldn't come to him because he had no idea where he was. Kurt would still be here, stranded God knows where, holding onto a payphone without any money. He only had enough for one call. It should be to someone that could get him home to his dad.

He dialed 9-1-1 hsatily, blood staining the buttons he touched. His legs grew weaker as he stood, his eyes blurring with tears and his cheeks wet with the ones that spilled over. An ache was starting between his legs, one that he hadn't noticed before but was now growing into something he couldn't ignore, something that felt very wrong. In fact, every time he moved his legs something felt very wrong, like he was out of place.

A woman's voice sounded in the phone, shocking Kurt and making him jump. "Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

The wind blew, rustling the trees, picking up leaves and blowing them by the phonebooth. Kurt shivered. He looked behind him, suddenly aware of how alone he was out here, how vulnerable. Once again, he expected to see Dave running after him, covered in blood, an unrecognizable pulp like a zombie heading towards him, arms outstretched, screaming in anger. He couldn't stop the sobs that escaped him, his breath coming in gasps. He was hyperventilating again.

"I n-n-need… help!"

"Ma'am, I need you to calm down."

"I'm s-sir."

"Sorry, sir. I need you to try and calm down."

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, huddling against the corner of the phonebooth pathetically. Frantically, he wished he'd called his father. Why hadn't he? Why had he called this woman he didn't know?

"Are you there, sir?" This was the calmest, most robotic voice Kurt had ever heard, so emotionless like generated by a computer.

"Y-yes." Kurt managed to gasp.

"Are you injured?"

He looked down at his legs, suddenly very aware of the blood pouring out between them. "Yeah – I'm… b-… bleeding."

"I've tracked your location. Help is on it's way."

"Okay." He kept his eyes squeezed shut, trying to focus on those words. Help was coming. Help would be here soon. Somebody was coming to help him. "L-lots of… blood…"

_Dave…_

He inhaled swiftly, as if through a straw, and his eyes flickered just barely open. "He's… he's hurt too… I hurt him…"

"An ambulance and a police dispatch is on its way, sir."

"Okay." Kurt gasped. "I th-… I think I… Oh God, I…"

"They'll be there as soon as they can, sir.

Kurt suddenly sensed the finality of the call, and panic arose. "D-don't hang up!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I need to attend to other emergencies. An ambulance will be there as soon as possible."

"O-…okay."

He didn't hear the end of the call. He felt his legs buckling underneath him, and hung the phone up quickly before falling to the ground, his knees hitting the floor painfully. He let himself collapse there, his head falling against the wall. His eyes closed. He tried not to slip into unconsciousness, but he didn't have a choice.

Darkness came.

End Note!

A Recover Sequel, after this next chapter, which will likely be the final for this one…

To be, or not to be… that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of trouble and by opposing end them.

E.g.) Should I do a recovery sequel?


	11. Chapter 11

Dearest readers,

My updating sucks. And this chapter is short. I am ashamed.

Also, I'm just going to go ahead and point out to the people who were upset with this part in chapter ten that the 911 operator is bad at her job and Burt will deal with that in the recovery sequel. GOD.

Smooches,

The Writer

PS: Silent, I have fallen madly in love with you and your amazing reviews. Let's elope.

PPS: Anon, thank you so much for sharing that amazing story with me. I apologize for reminding you of such a terrible past… but I hope you continue reading into Kurt's recovery. 3

PPPS: Reviews. Long. Long. Reviews. … required. :)

/

/

/

Burt's eyes flung open.

Had he fallen asleep? _Fallen asleep?_

Immediately, a wave of guilt washed over him.

He lay in bed, eyes burning holes into the ceiling with dark circles growing underneath them. His body became tense, almost unbearably, his mind somehow both racing yet completely stalled. He hadn't been dreaming, not to his recollection. He didn't remember closing his eyes. He must've passed out, probably from exhaustion.

To his left, Carole was fast asleep, her breathing steady and her face relaxed. Finn was upstairs, presumably out like a light as always. Burt had no idea how. But he supposed his situation was different.

Burt couldn't sleep. The idea of slipping into unconsciousness was out of the question for him, both intentionally and not. He could not – would not – let himself close his eyes and rest without irrevocably knowing that his little boy was sleeping safe under his roof, especially not when he knew his little boy was safe under no circumstances.

He feared closing his eyes, feared the images that would come to his mind. God, the things those creeps could be doing to him, the things they'd already done to him, were the worst kinds of horror in Burt's agonized mind. He couldn't stop himself from imagining it, what they'd done before sending Blaine that picture, and what they'd done outside of it. He couldn't stop the assumption that Kurt had been crying and begging for them to stop. Burt could see the tears rolling down his cheeks, his face going red and his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched in pain. He could hear his high, pitiful voice, babbling the first words that came to his terrified mind, just trying to feel safe again, trying to save his own life.

And the worst part of it was that Burt knew that his son had been crying for _him_. Crying for his dad, while his dad was at home, God knows how far away from his child, clueless as to what was happening. He should've been able to protect him. He should've been there to save him, still should be. But he wasn't. And he wasn't allowed to be.

When the police had told him that there was nothing he could do, he'd been furious. He couldn't understand how they actually expected him, the father of a missing kid who's flaming sexuality deemed him a target to the worst kinds of hate, who's location and history proved him to be in danger, to sit at home and wait for Kurt to call. Sit at home. And wait for Kurt to call.

"Furious" is an understatement for what Burt felt.

Of course, he realized that for the sake of his child, he had to accept that. He had to understand that in this case Kurt had a better chance at getting home safely if he left it up to the authorities. This had been explained to him after he'd thrown the chair and smashed the glass on the floor, which had calmed him down a bit. He was surprised he hadn't been arrested for that. Perhaps the police had been more lenient with him, given his situation.

_His situation._

Kurt's situation was what Burt was the most concerned with. And until he knew his child was safe, sleep was out of the question.

He heard Carole stirring beside him. She rolled over onto her side, her breathing growing irregular for a few breaths before relaxing back into its rhythmic and entirely unconscious fluidity. She settled back into sleep, off in another world, completely oblivious to the possibility of her stepson being tortured by the psychopaths that kidnapped him.

There must have been a way Burt could have prevented this. He should've done something else, something more to protect his boy. He should've pushed the school more to stop the bullying, should've kept his son at Dalton with the zero-tolerance policy. Moreso, he shouldn't have stayed in Lima. What was he thinking, raising a flaming homosexual in such an unaccepting little town? It wasn't just emotionally traumatizing and a warped perception on the rest of the world, it was _dangerous_. He should've known that Kurt wouldn't be safe here.

And those _calls_, the calls that degraded Kurt for his sexuality. He'd received them more than once, just a hateful voice on the other line calling his child cruel words. And not just the voices of kids either, but adult voices, voices that had no right to be used in such a way. How could those people live with themselves, tormenting a little kid like that? And Burt had done nothing to stop it. In fact, he'd been angry at Kurt, as if it had been his fault. And now Kurt was gone.

_No. He's not gone._

It couldn't have been one of those idiots, could it? Why hadn't he taken those calls more seriously? He should've done everything in his power to make sure Kurt was safe. That had been his job as a parent – to protect his son. And he'd failed.

_Failed._

The phone rang.

_What?_

Burt turned to the clock. It was just after three in the morning. Who would be calling now of all times?

His stomach dropped.

_Unless…_

Burt jumped out of bed faster than he thought possible. He flung the blankets off of himself and half off of Carole by accident, who rolled over but stayed fast asleep. He jogged into the kitchen and grabbed the phone, feeling a little too hopeful.

"Kurt? That you?"

A man's voice answered him, deep and intentional. "Erm… hi." There was discomfort in his tone, but mostly concern. "Is this Kurt's father?"

"Yes. Who is this? Did they find him? Is he okay?"

"This is Blaine's dad."

Burt's stomach sunk. The bad feeling in his abdomen, the one he was getting used to now with Kurt gone, suddenly became more apparent.

_No. Not gone._

Poor kid. Blaine hadn't been looking so great, he was avoiding his friends… Burt had gotten the call from the police about the horrific image that was sent to Blaine, and found out about his panic attack that way. Multiple panic attacks. Now what had happened to him?

Burt glanced at the clock again, feeling suddenly restless. "God." Something was wrong, or more wrong than it had been the day before. Burt couldn't recall ever having spoken to Blaine's dad, and now he was just up and calling in the middle of the night. Burt could only assume. "Is Blaine okay?"

"Well, he's…" There was hesitation in Anderson's voice, but his concern pushed him forward. "Blaine's not over there, is he?"

Burt's eyes closed. He paused. "No." The tension and the worry radiated through the phone lines. He could feel the sinking of Blaine's dad's heart, feel the exhale of breath. He wondered whether Anderson could hear his own quickening heartbeat, the one that Kurt would've went crazy over, yelling at him to sit down and relax because after all he was still recovering from a heart attack.

He felt the tears beginning at the back of his eyes.

_No reason to cry… he'll be back soon…_

"How long has he been gone?"

Anderson sighed. "I don't know. My wife got up to check on him about an hour ago and he wasn't there. He must've snuck out sometime tonight."

Burt groaned and shook his head. Of course he snuck out. Of course he had, how had any of them expected any different? Burt had seen the look in his eyes when he was told to leave Kurt's disappearance up to the police. He'd seen it, and he'd hoped it wasn't what he thought it was. He was naïve to think otherwise. He should've done something about it, just like he should've done something more to protect Kurt. Once again, he'd failed.

_Failed._

It had been a look of defiance in Blaine's eyes.

_Damn kids._

"Yeah, I know where he is."

/

/

/

Lights flashed through Kurt's closed eyelids. Bright lights, lights that hurt his aching head. Voices sounded, echoing in his ears as though coming from a distant world. They were, in a sense, far off in the world of reality that Kurt was having difficulty grasping. These voices were probably forming words, but Kurt suddenly couldn't speak English. He couldn't move. He couldn't even open his eyes.

Something touched his arm. In a frantic bout of panic, Kurt found the muscles in his eyelids and they flung opened in haste. He stared wide-eyed around him, realizing that he was shaking and feeling the adrenaline and fear starting in his blood. People surrounded him, were touching him, lifting him, making him lay down. Flashes of red and blue alarmed him, making his eyes squeeze shut again before he forced them back open. He had to protect himself. What if these people were going to hurt him?

A man's face came into focus, hovering over top of him. Kurt could see his mouth moving and assumed that sound was coming out, but he couldn't hear anything. He could barely even see the man's torso. Nothing registered but the head, hanging over his body, a look of concern and something like frustration on his face.

"…talk to me…"

_Oh._

"Unng…"

"Tell me your name. Come on, I know you can hear me. Tell me your name."

"I d-don't…"

"Yes you do. You know your name. Talk to me."

He felt a change in depth as he was lifted into the back of a truck.

_An ambulance._

"…what's your name?"

"K-… Kurt."

"Okay, Kurt, that's really good. What's your last name?"

"Mmm… H-…. Hum-… Hummel." When did speaking get so difficult?

He felt something cold against his leg. Looking down a bit, he saw a woman with a pair of scissors, cutting off his pants. God, hadn't he put on his favorite pair this morning? He wanted to look good for Blaine. Skinny jeans. Black ones. They'd reminded him of Sandy's leather pants in _Grease_.

_No, don't cut them…_

Then he realized that he wasn't wearing his black skinny jeans anymore. He was wearing sweatpants that were far too big for him, grey and baggy and just barely being held on him by a knotted drawstring at the top. Sweatpants that belonged to Dave. They were being cut and torn off of him, leaving him completely exposed in front of these strangers. And _cold_. It was cold in here against his bare skin. And all of the prodding and moving was hurting him, all the while with this floating head above him asking him questions that he should know the answer to and for some reason didn't. It scared him.

"How old are you, Kurt?"

"I… I don't… know…"

"Yes, you do. You know your age. When were you born?"

"I don't… know…!"

"Tell me your birthdate, Kurt. It's okay, you're doing great."

"I don't know!" It was all far too overwhelming. He couldn't help it; he burst into tears. "I want my d-dad… Please…"

"I can get your dad for you, Kurt, but we have to get you to the hospital first, okay?"

"Noooo….!"

"What's your dad's name?"

"B-Burt…!"

"We'll get him for you as soon as we can, okay?"

"I want him n-now!"

"Can you tell me where you're hurting, Kurt?"

"The op… operator … hung up on me…"

Kurt was sobbing, his voice higher pitched than he thought possible without sounding like a chipmunk.

"D-Dave's h-hurt…"

"It's okay, Kurt. You're going to be okay. Stay with me, now."

"I'm c-cold…!"

"…stay with me…"

"I… n-… need…"

/

/

/

Finn awoke rather suddenly, his eyes squinting, looking around the room curiously. The phone was ringing.

He looked at the clock. It was nearly five in the morning. And the phone had woken him up. That meant nobody else was answering it. Otherwise he would've slept through it.

Groaning, he rolled over and nearly fell off his bed, then made his way onto his feet and into the hallway, wishing he was either half his size or not so goddamn lazy.

On his way to the kitchen, he passed by Kurt's room. The door was closed. Lucky jerk – he'd probably heard the phone and hadn't bothered to get up and answer it. He'd left it for Finn. Finn knew this because Kurt woke up a thousand times easier than he did – the only person that could sleep through a phone call longer than him was his mother – and if the phone had been ringing long enough to wake him up, it had been ringing more than long enough for Kurt to wake up. He wondered if Kurt was awake in his room. He probably heard Finn walking down the hallway, and was sniggering, half-asleep, because Finn had to get up and he got to stay in bed, warm and comfy and content and –

_Shit…_

Finn nearly stopped in his tracks. His stomach sunk. No, that wasn't right. He glanced back at Kurt's closed door as he made his way to the kitchen, a new slow concern in his step as the emptiness of Kurt's room followed him like a ghost.

The moment Finn reached the kitchen, the phone stopped ringing. Any other time, this would've pissed him off so much he would've had to make a snack as a type of compensation and then ate it on his way back to bed. This time, his concern was elsewhere, with his little brother. His little brother, who was actually older than him and not related to him at all, who he'd thrown pee balloons at and then fallen in brotherly love with, whom he'd sworn to protect and stand up for, two promises he'd excercised everyday since he'd pronounced them as Furt.

Who he'd left at school the day he disappeared.

Who was gone now, being tortured by some freaks who thought it was okay to hurt a little kid.

On the table, he noticed a scribbled note, signed by Burt, lying on the counter: "Two words. Damn Kids. Out looking for Blaine. Call my cell if you hear ANYTHING!" Great. As if Finn didn't have enough to worry about, now he could add Blaine to that list.

Sighing, he turned to the phone and looked at the caller ID. His eyebrows furrowed, then his stomach dropped. Blaine disappeared from his mind.

_St. Josephs Hospital?_

In Fort Wayne.

Near New Haven.

_Kurt._

_Fuck!_

Finn pressed the redial button, yelling for his mom and Burt. Carole came running into the room within seconds. It was a miracle how she could sleep so easily through a phone ringing but the second she heard her son's voice she was as wide-awake as a college student on uppers.

Carole burst through the door. "Finn? Finn!"

"Hospital called. I'm calling them back." He gestured to the phone against his ear, anxious and impatient. "I think it's Ku – " Just then, someone answered, interrupting him. "Hello, s-someone just called here…"

"Let me talk!" Carole snatched the phone from his hands. "Hello? This is Carole Hummel. Please tell me you have my son." The colour was gone from her face. She noticed the note Burt had left, skimming through it quickly. Finn couldn't see her face – she was turned from him, but she'd turned very still suddenly, her breath stopping. Finn's stomach dropped.

_Oh God…_

Carole turned around slowly. Finn searched her eyes, hoping to God he would find a hint of good news in them.

_"Call your father right now!"_

"Is Kurt…"

"They have him. He's alive."

/

/

/

Dark black sky, no stars, little wisps of dark blue, maybe clouds –

– the car door, still opened, hanging there, vaguely blowing in the wind and covered in blotches of red blood, strands of short, brown hair and bits of scalp –

– blood covering the driver's seat, splattered over the steering wheel, dripping down onto the floor and down even further out of the car and into the dirt, a puddle forming there, thick and hot and dark, deep red, a trail of bloody footprints leading away.

Somehow, despite the horror movie gore, the scene could be peaceful. The night was silent, almost compassionately, as if nature was aware that the living were asleep and was resting with them.

A body lay on the ground by the car. The skin was pale, the lips bluish, the hands white. The eyes were opened, the irises gazing blankly forward. The mouth was resting opened. It's absence of movement was unnerving despite the stillness of the night.

In the distance, an ambulance sounded, loud, unnecessarily loud in the silence of the night. A police siren followed it, too epic in the world's otherwise peacefulness.

- the police siren –

- the hint of flashing lights –

- looking down, a pale, bloody body –

- he saw his hands, just barely, beginning to come into focus, his ears ringing and his head throbbing, the blood soaking through him like water –

And Dave's eyes blinked, the first hint at his vague consciousness.

/

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/

END NOTE

I lied. There is another chapter after this one.


	12. Chapter 12

**Dearest Readers,**

**OBVIOUSLY Kurt's pants magically teleported to him from Dave's car into the phonebooth. GOD, people!**

**:)**

**Seriously though, I realize that my updating absolutely sucks. I apologize. I spent the summer literally staring at a blank computer screen, or staring at writing that I didn't like and erasing it. In other words, I came down with writer's block. Now I'm a full-time student in university, so unfortunately I can't see my updating getting all that much better. This chapter is actually just what I had so far. It's not the end of this part of Kurts, erm, "journey", but rather is kind of the first half or the first one third of the end. This is just what I wrote and what I was somewhat happy with. I didn't read through it or anything so... I hope you enjoy it. Again, sorry for the terrible updating. I'll try to do better now. :)**

**Smooches,**

**The Writer**

So vague.

Dave could see shadows, the slight movements from the wind. He could see the outline of his body in front of him, the car to his left, the rough gravel underneath him. He could feel the wind, the road, the movement of his chest as he breathed. But his body felt like it didn't belong to him, like if he tried to move his hands or his feet nothing would budge. His mind felt like it didn't belong to him, like his thoughts had gone, or changed, or had been taken from his head.

Words appeared in his mind, and images, none of which made any sense to Dave's hurting and confused brain, like a Google search in a foreign language.

_Kurt –_

_ Talking – whimpering – sleeping – walking – breathing – naked._

Dave's muscles were tingling now, waking up from what felt like a decade long sleep. He rolled over and vomited on the road, and shuddered in pain as his stomach continued contracting, gagging on nothing. When he was finally finished, he rolled onto his back oncemore, coughing.

_Kurt –_

_ Blood – sweat – Schuester – dad – storage – crying – pain._

Dave tried to sit up but his stomach convulsed and he rolled over to puke again.

_God –_

_ Lights – running – pleasure – darkness – alone._

Kurt. Where was Kurt?

Dave tried to turn his head, looking around. His car was beside him, covered in blood. He must've gotten into a car accident.

Was Kurt in the backseat?

No…

_Driving – stopping – pleasure – no – choking – _

Had he killed him? Had he done it?

_ His blue eyes fading, the life draining out of them…_

_/_

_/_

_/_

Blaine's phone rang for the hundredth time. He figured at this point his parents would stop trying his cellphone, assuming they were smart enough to come to the conclusion that if he hadn't answered the first ninety-nine times, he either didn't have his phone, or he was ignoring it. Why he hadn't put it on silence yet he didn't know. Maybe he just wanted to moniter what was happening. Or maybe the brief distraction that came from being annoyed at his ringtone was relieving in comparison to what he felt before that.

Fear. Confusion. Angst. Sadness. Anxiety.

All things that made him wish he could just close his eyes and make his wish of seeing Kurt when he opened them again come true. He couldn't stop thinking that this was his fault, as if he somehow should've known that somebody was going to do this to his boyfriend, as if he should've seen some invisible sign that Kurt was unsafe by himself that day and Blaine should've stayed with him at all times, regardless of what Kurt said.

His phone stopped ringing. He glanced over at it, feeling a bit of relief and hoping that that was the last time it would ring. As if that was too much to ask, perhaps half a second after it stopped ringing, the screen lit up oncemore with yet another incoming call.

_Fuck!_

Blaine rolled his eyes at the phone and turned away, Kurt never straying from his mind. Irritated even more, he ignored it, turning away and refusing to look at it. His parents would just have to realize eventually that he was not going to pick up the fucking phone.

He looked out the window. The drive here had been nice, actually. He'd felt a certain sense of determination, as if he was supposed to be close to the city. He was hoping it was some kind of premonition, an inutition, showing that Kurt was going to be saved today and that he was supposed to be here so he could help him in some way. God, to see Kurt again…

_No. Don't think about that_.

He forced the tears that had gathered in his eyes back into his tear ducts.

_No crying_.

The phone stopped ringing again. Blaine tensed up, listening to see if it would start again. A few seconds past without a sound.

_Finally they get it –_

_ Rrrrrring!_

Blaine groaned, casting his phone the most hateful look he could manage.

_Stupid annoying fucking cocksucking …_

Finally annoyed enough, he reached over to turn his phone on silence. His stomach dropped when he saw who was calling.

_Kurt._

His heart leaped with hope, then sunk when the realisticness of the situation raised up like smoke in his mind.

_No. Not Kurt._

The chances of his boyfriend actually calling him right now were slim to none. After that picture, that terrible image, had been sent to him, something told him Kurt's phone wasn't currently in his possession. Something told him the person that had his phone was the same person that had taken Kurt, that had hurt him.

…that was calling him now.

_Oh God…_

Blaine looked at the phone. He just looked at it, his face expressionless despite the plethora of emotion washing over his mind almost painfully. He tried to slow his breath, keeping it steady to compress the feeling in his chest that he knew would lead to something much worse.

_Okay, Blaine… you have to do this… you have to do this for Kurt._

With shaking fingers, Blaine answered his phone.

His voice wavered. "Kurt? Baby, is that you?"

A deep, gutteral, gurgling noise was Blaine's response, as chilling as a horror movie. Blaine took a few moments to pick his stomach up from the floor before continuing.

"Kurt, honey, talk to me, please… please tell me this is you." His words came out differently than his thoughts. In his head, he was saying, "Who the fuck is this and what have you done to my boyfriend?"

Another cough, a splutter of some kind, actually, and then a deep voice. "Ha…. Ha…."

Blaine dropped the act. "What?"

"Ha… haha… ha…"

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, he was laughing. He was _laughing_ into the goddamn receiver, when Blaine was on the other end. _Laughing_.

"Ha… hahahaha… hahaha..!"

Blaine felt his chest tighten, a feeling he usually relieved by putting on some gloves and beating up a punching bag. "Shut the fuck up."

A pause, and then, "Hahahaha…"

"Where the fuck are you? I'm going to fucking kill you, you sick son of a bitch! Who are you? Where the fuck are you, you fucking coward!"

"Yeah, let me just give you directions…"

_That voice_. Blaine froze for a moment, uncertain. He'd heard that voice before, somewhere, but he couldn't quite place where. The feeling was so vague he almost brushed it aside, but _god_, did it sound familiar…

"Who is this?"

"Hahaha…"

"Who the fuck is this?" Blaine resisted the urge to slam his phone against the steering wheel and pretend it was the guy's face. "Where the fuck is Kurt?"

"Kurt… haha…"

"Don't laugh you fucking psychopath! What did you do with him?"

"Oh, what _didn't_ I do with him?"

"What's that supposed to mean?

"Haha… hahahaha…"

Blaine exhaled heavily, furiously. When he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy, filled with testosterone. "Why are you laughing?"

"Why shouldn't I laugh, Blaine?"

"What the fuck did you do to him?"

"Kissed him…"

Blaine froze. "What?"

"Touched him…

Blaine tried to force the images flooding into his mind to stop. "No…"

"Took off his clothes…"

Blaine's stomach dropped. His breathing was irregular again, a feeling rising in his stomach that was nervewrackingly similar to the one before his panic attack. He concentrated on keeping his throat open, his breath smooth and slow and deep. "What… what did you do? Why would you do that to him?"

"I _fucked_ him, Blaine! I _fucked_ your boyfriend, and I did it because he's a hot piece of ass that you don't deserve."

"You sick fuck! What, you can't get in anyone's pants on your own, so you have to _rape_ people? What the fuck is wrong with you? Where is my boyfriend?"

"He's fucking dead, you asshole."

Blaine's heart stopped.

_No._

_No … no… no…_

_He's lying. Blaine, he's lying._

_ Get a grip on yourself…_

He was gasping. He could feel the air rushing into his lungs, but he couldn't feel the oxygen. He needed more air, he couldn't breathe right, he was going to die.

_Oh God, Kurt! No…_

"I killed him. I fucked him, and then I killed the little bastard. And you know what? I've already forgotten where I dumped his fucking body."

The tears were coming out of his eyes now. God, what a terrible death. His poor baby – he must've been so scared. He was probably in so much pain before he died, probably was screaming and crying and…

_Oh god… Oh god, I can't breath … I can't breath…_

"What's wrong, Blaine? Can't handle it?"

_I'm gonna die. I can't breath!_

Why had he left his parents' house?

"And you know why I did it, Blaine? I did it because I snapped. And I snapped because of _you_, because you just had to text me telling me in all your hobbit, pixie, oompa-fucking-loompa glory, that Kurt is _yours_. Isn't that right? Well you know what, Frodo? I don't want him anymore. You can have his lost, mangled, rotting, _dead_ body. It's all yours."

Blaine tried to hold back his sob, but it came without his consent, right into the receiver.

"Now you know, Blaine. Now you _know_ that you do not mess with me."

"Oh my God…" He'd heard those words before, those exact same words out of the exact same mouth. How had he not guessed this? "Fucking Karofsky!"

"That's right, bitch. Fucking Karofsky."

Blaine dropped the phone. He fumbled around with the door handle before he could finally get it open and just let himself fall out of the car and onto the road. He couldn't breathe anymore, literally. And with Kurt gone he'd never be able to breathe again.

He was dead. Fucking Karofsky had killed both of them.

He stood in the middle of the road, the tears streaming down his face, his breath coming in painful gasps, his mind flooding with horrible thoughts and images. He couldn't hear anything; his ears were plugged, focused on no noise but the ones inside his mind. His vision was gone, already minimal in the darkness of the night, but in his state, he could've been blind. Light didn't look the same. Everything looked new, like he'd literally died and had been reborn in a new world with new eyes, all that registered in his brain as horrifying and wrong.

He turned his head, looking ahead, straight down the road. A car was coming, the lights glowing bright but barely registering to Blaine's foggy mind. Blaine saw the car, but the driver didn't see him until it was too late.


End file.
